


Until the Dawn

by CheerUpLovely



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-05-09 18:34:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 33,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5550995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheerUpLovely/pseuds/CheerUpLovely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smutty prompt fills from yespleasehawkeye.tumblr.com</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He was trying to focus on what she was saying; he really was. It was a simple thing to do, and he did it all the time. Her lips were pretty, always so colourful, he even liked them first thing in the morning when she had a hint of drool in the corner. They were making shapes, forming patterns, and she was speaking words. To him. Directly at him. And he was…not listening. Not at all. He tried but he failed. He failed so badly he even felt bad for trying.

“Oliver?”

He shook his head, forcing himself to focus. She was across the foundry, standing up with her hands rested on the desk as she worked at the computers without sitting down as she usually did. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he was so used to her sitting at the desk that it had completely thrown him to see her leaning over it instead. The heels didn’t help. She was wearing the bright pink ones that matched her lipstick perfectly, giving her that little boost of height that made her lean down just that little bit more…

No, it was the dress. It was her ass, specifically. Her ass in that dress.

Fuck, she had to know. There was no way that she couldn’t know what he was feeling. He’d told her before what it did to him when she wore that tight black dress, the one that stopped so barely below her waist and clung to every curve that existed on her body.

“Oliver?”

He swallowed thickly, and ran his hand over his jaw. Words. She was expecting words from him. There was just one problem with that - he couldn’t remember any. She was looming over that desk in those shoes, and her hair was swept over her shoulder, exposing the other side of her neck to him so he could see the creamy curve of skin before it disappeared beneath the black fabric of her dress.

Her spine curved deliciously as she leaned over, but not as much as her ass did. His fascination with her behind had thrown him for six when they started dating. He’d always considered himself more of a breast man, but then he’d held her ass in the palms of his hand and he was a goner. He could stretch his fingers around each cheek, squeezing them in a way that would grind her hips that fraction harder against his, and it was perfection.

“Oliver, are you even listening to me?”

No, he wasn’t listening, he was staring at the hemline of her dress and knowing that only an inch above it was soft crease between her leg and her ass that was so incredibly sensitive it had her gasping when he ran his fingers along it before delving them into her wet heat. He was thinking about the way that the curves rippled when he took her from behind and god, that was a thought that had him straining hard in his pants. Why was he still wearing them? Why was she still wearing that dress?

“Can you please just answer me so we can get this done and get to the restaurant?”

Restaurant. Dinner. That was it. She was running a few updates on the computers in the foundry then they were going to dinner. Yeah, they were absolutely not doing that. Not in that dress. Oliver was a possessive man at the best of times and he knew that he couldn’t handle sitting in a restaurant with her wearing that. His self-control wasn’t nearly good enough for that. How could he be expected to go to dinner with her wearing that and not slide his hand beneath the dress in the taxi? How could he guide her to her chair without the hand on her back tracing the curve of her ass and straight between her legs? How could he share a table with her without one hand teasing her into oblivion? How could he not stop and fuck her in the alley out back? Or in the ladies room? Or on the table right in front of –

“Oliver!”

He snapped his head up as her voice got louder. She was looking at him now, and she wasn’t angry. She was frustrated at him and why did that just make him harder? He shifted his hips to relieve some of the pressure, only resulting in more friction against his zipper, and he groaned. She looked at him incredulously.

“Really? Now? I’m trying to get things done and you’re just sitting there?”

Sitting there. Hard as a rock. Licking his own lips like a schoolboy caught in the act. Thinking about how that ass looked bent over the bed. Bent over the couch. Cupped in his palms as he lowered her down onto him.

She slammed her hands down onto the desk. “Why am I even surprised? All week you’ve been so lost in your own head you barely pay attention to…” He stopped listening when she turned back to the desk, leaning over that fraction more that he could see…

…nothing at all.

Nothing.

No underwear.

Just the perfect curve of her ass, as if it were inviting him in.

He couldn’t wait.

Something about angry Felicity made her tense. When she tensed, the curves of her ass became a little more dangerous, and with that his self-control snapped. He swallowed and pushed away from the desk he was leaning against, and he was across the room in seconds. She was still speaking but he didn’t hear her now, and he didn’t even attempt to. He came up behind her, his hands hiking up her dress to her hips as he crashed his aching groin into the ass of his affections.

“Oliver, what are-”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what you’re doing,” he growled into her ear when she straightened up.

“If someone comes down here-”

“You should have thought of that when you chose not to put underwear on,” he reminded her, grinding his hips against her ass and eliciting a moan of approval from her lips. “So lean back against the desk,” he said, biting at her ear as one hand moved down to his fly. “We don’t want to be late for our reservation…"


	2. One in Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note: So, I gave you guys the choice between smut, fluff and angst…and you wanted all three. So….All three it is. I give you, smutty fluffy angst. FYI, the condition mentioned in this is very real and I have it. There’s a lot of real life in this so please, be gentle with the comments. It’s also a bit longer than usual so it’ll be the only fic posted tonight!

It started with a subtle rub of her stomach the morning after their second wedding anniversary. They’d stayed the night in Starling’s fanciest hotel, a tradition they stuck to every night since they’d checked in their for their wedding night, and Oliver watched her walking around the room in just the emerald green underwear she’d brought for the occasion, toying with the coffee maker (she’d lost the bet, it was her time to make it), and she was…massaging her lower stomach.

“You feeling okay?” Oliver asked, pushing up onto his elbows to observe her with a crease of a frown on his forehead.

She turned to him with a questioning look. “Hmm?”

“Your stomach,” he prompted, nodding down at her hand.

She dropped her hand to her hip and gave him a small wince and turned back to the coffee machine. “Just feeling a bit crampy this morning,” she told him, distracting herself with an ‘aha!’ when the coffee machine burst into life and she was rewarded with the sweet aroma of her morning life force.

“Crampy like ‘that chicken was bad last night’ or crampy like ‘we need to go to the store’?” he checked, sitting up a little more.

She turned back with a reassuring smirk on her lips, bringing the successfully brewed cups back to the bed and lounging back at his side. “Relax, I think after three weeks of downtime last night took a bit out of me.” She’d been in Gotham because of company matters until late the night before their anniversary, and she was exhausted still, but it had been worth getting the early flight home to be back for their day.

Oliver took the mug she offered him without dropping his concern. “We weren’t exactly rough last night, Felicity…” His hand roamed over her bare stomach but she caught it, twining their fingers together and giving him a pointed look.

“Stop it. I’m fine,” she half-laughed. “It’s just random cramps.”

–

It wasn’t random cramps.

–

Six months later, she agrees to see her doctor. It had gone beyond the point where over-the-counter painkillers helped her with her periods cramps. She had always suffered with them, but this was beyond Midol and a hot water bottle. They made her vomit. They made her bleed through her pyjamas at night. They made her cry. That was worst. He hated seeing her cry, and the pain was bad enough he considered taking her to the emergency room once, but she refused to go for something she classed as ‘normal’.

The pain after sex happened occasionally. He tried to hold back sometimes, to be cautiously gentle, but she always told him not to stop. She didn’t want anything to come between them, but when he caught her curling into herself when she thought he wasn’t looking, he always felt guilty.

He tried not to see it as symbolic that their expression of their love was bringing her pain.

It wasn’t normal.

–

When they see her doctor, they’re referred to another doctor, and another, and then they’re sent home with leaflets about a condition Oliver has never heard about. Endometriosis. They sat in the car afterwards reading through the leaflets and trying to make sense of what they’d been told, and Oliver only takes in fragments of the information.

_Tissue similar to the lining of the uterus is found on other parts of the body._

_General found in the pelvic cavity and can attach to any of the female reproductive organs._

_Cycling inflammation causes scar tissue and adhesions to build up around the lesions._

_It affects 1 in 10 women and girls in the US._

_There is no specific cause._

_There is no specific cure._

Oliver ran his hand over his short hair as he read it, his free hand falling to Felicity’s as he read through the list of symptoms. “This is…this is what you’ve been feeling, all this time?” he asked in a torn voice. “You thought all this was normal.”

_Cramps that do not go away with NSAIDS and/or impede the activities of daily living_

_Long and/or heavy periods_

_Nausea or vomiting_

_Bowel and urinary disorders_

_Pain during sexual activity_

“Some of time,” Felicity admitted, her breath catching at the sight of the last word, the one they’d been trying to avoid since they heard it mentioned in their second appointment with the specialist.

_Infertility._

“Let’s go home,” Oliver announced when she tried to speak. “We’ll crack open the ice cream, get a bottle of wine open too, and we’ll figure this all out.”

–

They poured over the information they were given and discussed all the options out there, from medication to intensive surgery. Felicity didn’t want a hysterectomy. “It’s major surgery, Oliver…and three weeks out of four, I feel okay,” she reasoned - so big surgery wasn’t an option. “Besides, that makes everything so final…and we really need to think about whether or not we want a family.”

As soon as she’d said it, Oliver knew that it wasn’t a possibility to ignore it any more. He sighed, pushing the leaflets away, removing the science from the equation. “Felicity, there’s no ‘if’ about it,” he reminded her. “You know that’s what I want for us.”

She didn’t smile when he took her hands over the table top. “And what if that’s not something I can give us any more?” she asked him quietly.

He didn’t look away from her, because the answer was simple. Or at least, to him it was. “If it doesn’t happen, then we find another way,” he said just as softly. “This is our future, we don’t give up on anything. There’s plenty of help available for couples having…problems…this won’t…” she drew in a deep breath and he understood what she was really asking. His thumb coasted over her knuckles. “We are in this together, whatever the outcome, okay?” he assured her.

“Okay,” she nodded.

“So if we do want a family, what are our options?” he turned back to the publications they had.

Felicity was researching on her tablet. “Most of the quick fixes for pain are varying forms of contraception, but they’re pretty varied on the results as well. Otherwise we’re looking at smaller surgeries,” she said, and he remained silent as she read. “There’s a laparoscopy,” she read aloud. “It’s not very invasive, it’s all done with cameras and they remove the lesions. It can actually boost fertility for a while.”

He frowned slightly. “Do you think we need that? A boost?”

She gave a small shrug. “Maybe,” she suggested. “I mean, we haven’t used any form of protection since the wedding,” she added.

Oliver made a small noise of acknowledgement. They had forgone protection once they were married, deciding that if anything was going to happen, they would let it happen. They knew that they wanted a family one day, but knew that if they had tried to plan it, there would always be a reason not to. “I gotta say, I kinda thought we’d have had a scare now at least,” he admitted.

Felicity hummed. “Maybe we do need the boost, then?” she asked. “If the pain stays bad and it does start to get worse in other areas, I’m open to the bigger surgeries if they’re needed, but I don’t want to throw away having a family without even trying,” she sighed.

Oliver nodded, and tugged on her hands until she was sat in his lap. He kicked her chair a few inches away and looped his arms around her waist. “I’m not going to push you into surgery you don’t want,” he assured her, “but I do want you to be healthy and pain free.”

“So do I,” she sighed as she set her arms around his shoulders. “It was kind of a relief to find out that it wasn’t normal, you know?”

“I know,” he said, and leaned into press his lips to her forehead with a decisive nod afterwards. “So, when we go back to the specialist on Friday we’ll talk to him about the laparoscopy. That’ll buy us some time to think about other options, and once we’ve boosted the fertility part we can try properly,” he told her. “We’ll start our family, and we’ll go from there.”

“Okay,” she agreed with a deep breath. “So…we’re trying?”

“We’re trying,” he said, standing up with her still in his arms. He made sure her legs were secure around his waist before he moved off to the bedroom.

“And what are we doing now?” she asked when his lips closed over her throat.

“Practising.”

Once they get into their bedroom, Felicity isn’t worrying about fertility issues or babies or pain, because all she could think about was the feel of warm lips trailing down her throat. He carried her all the way to the bedroom, setting her down on the edge of the bed as he kneels in front of her. He was tall enough even on his knees to keep his lips attached to hers once he’d finally torn them away from her throat.

If he kissed her a little more sweetly, a little more reassuringly, she pretended not to notice.

She lost her patience first, tugging at the bottom of his t-shirt to draw it up over her his head. He broke the kiss then, a small grunt passing his lips as he took the small distance as an invitation to slid his legs up her bare things. Wearing one of his shirts and her underwear was a habit she’d stuck to ever since they first started living together, and one that he was very grateful for. He watched her with dark, dilated eyes as he used the fluid movement of his hands to bunch the shirt over her hips, then her chest, and finally over her head until her bare skin was victim to the cool air of their bedroom.

His eyes were almost black with lust as he dragged them over her body. He saw her every day in every aspect of life, but when he looked at her naked form he was still as appreciative of the sight as he had been the first time. While he was consumed with lust, Felicity had never felt more loved. She read about those couples who lost their spark in the bedroom once they were married, and that wasn’t the case for them, because of Oliver’s view of possession. She had no doubt he respected her, he always publicly supported her position as CEO and he never treated her as an object, but when it came to their intimate life, Oliver wanted to consume her. Tonight was no different.

Bare to him, she gave him what he loved most - opportunity. His hungry gaze was a scouting look as he chose his target area, tonight it was the top of her left breast to start. He leaned in, teasing his breath against her nipple and drawing a sound of longing from her before he closed his teeth around the skin above it. Felicity couldn’t remember the last he hadn’t marked her during sex. He was cautious about it, though, always suckling at the more tender parts of flesh that were covered by her clothes. That way, it was all for him. She knew he got off of knowing that he had left a mark on her that made her his, and she would catch his eyes following her around the room with his eyes firmly on her hip, her thigh, her lower back. Tonight it was her breasts that got his attention.

Her heart was thumping beneath the touch of her lips, his hands skating up her sides until she was melting into his palms and arching into the rough pads of this thumbs drawing circles around her nipple. It sent a jolt of arousal through her body that pooled between her legs, and she shifted so her legs were back around his middle, pressing her lower body against him. Rather than grant her the friction she craved, however, he released his mark with small popping sound and dipped his head to feast on the creamier skin in his hands. Tracing his tongue around the pebbled nub, he drew the sweetest moan from her lips. His head lifted to catch sight of hers tilted back, lips parted blissfully. Playing to what her body needed, he used his freed up hand to lower her down to the bed so he could perfectly lean over the edge of the bed move his lips down her stomach. She moaned again when he pulled away.

“No, that felt good,” she half-complained, trying to bring him back with a mumble.

“Mmm, you’ll like this better,” his voice rumbled against her hipbone. She gasped, and he grinned because they both knew what was coming. His teeth gripped the edge of her underwear and he pulled it down her legs, not bothering to see where it landed because the sight of her spread open for him was more than enough to distract his attention. She raised up on her forearms, but while his eyes met hers, he moved constantly, stroking over her thighs, kissing the path that they mapped out, and he watched her head drop back with a far more distinctive cry when he finally put his mouth on her.

He tugged one of her legs over his shoulder, tilting her hips flush against his face as his tongue darted out to taste her. She eagerly ground her hips against him, seeking more relief from the blessed torture of his tongue, but he remained calm, watching her eyes slip closed the flush of arousal covering her chest. He loved her like this - free, longing, open - because she made these noises for him and him only. She’d been very open with him that she’d faked a lot of things in relationships with other men, and in the four years he’d been sleeping with her he was proud to say she’d never faked an orgasm with him. Just when he got her used to the rhythmic strokes of his tongue, he flattened it against her folds, closing his eyes to focus on the task at hand as he slid his fingers into her. It was his turn to moan as her body fluttered around him, stretching for this accommodation so deliciously that he rocked his hips unconsciously at the vivid memory of what it felt like to bury himself into her.

“Oliver…” she gasped, her hands reaching down to fist into his short strands of hair when he’d moaned against her. He wanted to tell her that he loved the way she said his name, that he wanted her to scream it as she came for him, but he just crooked his fingers inside her instead, moaning her name over her clit in a way that had her quivering beneath him. He knew her signs well, how close she was to release, but too pent up and stressed to reach it, so he slowed down the motions of his fingers, thrusting them slowly into her and stroking them up against her sensitive spot each time even though he sped up the movements of his tongue.

Every part of her felt like it was on fire where he touched her, and she moved with him where she had room to. She grabbed at his hair, clawed at his shoulders, growing hotter from the core as he worked her, and if she weren’t so far gone with lust she might have felt embarrassed by the sound of the groans leaving her lips.

He traced patterns against her and inside her until he felt her stiffen, her body freezing above him as her breath caught in the back of her throat and finally, she went right over the precipice and into oblivion. He held himself in place as she erupted under his touch, her body quaking around his fingers until he was lapping up the remains of her release as if it were the only source of survival in a desert. She recovered quickly though, and was tugging on his hair to pull him up onto the bed while he was making work on his own pants.

He needed her so badly it was painful, and the moment they hit the mattress together he groaned, shoving his boxers down and kicking them off so he could be bare between her thighs - his favourite place to be. She drank in the sight of him, drawing her fingernails up his spine, over each thick rope of muscle that comprised his thighs and his upper arms, each one twitching in need under her delicate touch. She was beautiful beneath him, disheveled and gorgeous, soft markings of red over her stomach where his stubble had brushed on the way down her body. This masterpiece of human arousal was his wife, and the thought had him grinding his hips against hers at last.

“Felicity,” he growled, sliding his aching length along her slit. She was so wet from her first orgasm that he could have slid right into her, but he knew better now. Despite their distraction from the heavier moment, precautions were needed now to prevent any discomfort for her, and while she eagerly took him in her hand and stroked him to a whimpered need, he traced his hand down her body to run his fingertips over her clit.

She was building towards release within moment of teasing, desperate for more, shifting her hips up against his hand. “Please…” she murmured as she lifted one leg around his hip, urging him down where she needed him.

He was never a man to disappoint his wife.

His fingers left her, coming back up to rest his forearms on either side of her chest, and as his body lowered hers he finally - finally - pushed into her. He moved slowly, filling her with an agonising delay even though he craved to fill her to the hilt. He forced himself to have control, and when he was buried fully inside her, he dipped his head down to her collarbone, taking slow, steady breaths while her body adjusted to him. She fluttered, stretching around his length and each subtle tremor made him gasp. He loved this part, knowing he couldn’t be any closer to her than in this moment, to feel the way she opened up her body to him the same way she opened up her heart. He peppered kisses across the top of her chest while she adjusted, and when he landed at her lips, she surprised him by knotting her tongue with his and grasping at his back when she deliberately clenched her muscles around him.

His control snapped, and he started to move. They rocked together slowly, eyes connected with a level of intimacy that slammed into him when he realised the step they were taking tonight, that this need for each other may actually create something within her. He would never have done this before, been so open and vulnerable with another person, but here with his wife, he didn’t shy away from her gaze as he slowly built the speed of his thrusts to something that had her mouth dropping open with each movement until she was arching up into him and rocking her hips even more to match him.

She felt the telltale signs of his impending release, feeling him pump into her with less rhythm and his breath hitching in his throat. Wanting her to fall over the edge with him, his hand dipped back between them and circled her clit erratically, filling her with a familiar warmth in her stomach that swelled over her, and then he was kissing her furiously, his mouth like fire against hers. His thrusts hit her deeper, trying to fill her even more than he already had, and then he was pressing tightly against her and they were both crying out.

Her orgasm hit her as if it had exploded from the base of her spine, consuming her entire body while she felt the way Oliver pulsed and jerked inside her. He kissed her through it, sloppy, lazy kisses while their breath came back to them, and they both moaned when he slipped out of her body and onto the bed beside her.

He isn’t sure how long he laid next to her before he curled her into his arms, his arm looped around her stomach while he kissed behind her ear. It’s quiet, too quiet. “Stop thinking,” he told her, his voice rumbled against her skin.

“Can’t,” she breathed out, pushing back against him and drawing his arm closer around her.

“We’re gonna be fine,” he promised her, soft presses of his lips marking his words. “Just close your eyes and think of happy things,” he continued in a lazy whisper.

“Is that what you do?” she asked him after a few moments of silence passed between them.

“I don’t have to,” he told her as his eyes closed. “You’re my happiness. I already have you.”

–

Three surgeries, two years and a miscarriage later, they have a new happiness in their lives when their son finally arrives in the world.


	3. We Wash The Dishes There!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> priya108 said:
> 
> If you’re still taking prompts for Olicity, how about this? The guy at the sex store told me that my new dildo was dishwasher safe and you’re my poor, traumatised roommate.
> 
> Note: So, I decided to do place this in the gap between season 2 and season 3 for timing, with the headcanon that Oliver takes up Felicity’s spare room over the summer. Beware of mentions of naughty things.

Oliver came back from three days in Central City with his duffel bag thrown over his shoulder. For the first time ever, he let himself into the apartment - Felicity’s apartment - with the key she’d given him. It was something she’d encouraged over the summer that she’d offered him her guest room, but it was the first time he’d felt so…domestic about it.

Living with Felicity had been far more couple-y than he had ever thought he would, which was sheer torture after everything that happened with Slade - because he hadn’t been lying. He did love her, he was just all too aware of how dangerous it was for them to be together. So some nights she passed him closely enough in the hall that he could smell her shampoo, and occasionally he saw her leaving the bathroom in a towel, and once he had volunteered to sort the laundry and he’d picked up a pair of her underwear and turned a shade of red he’d never had outside of sunburn before.

But it was also perfect. Because he got to see her first thing in the morning when she was too half-asleep to completely make it to the coffee machine without stumbling, and he knew what bedhead was, and his toothbrush was next to hers. Oh, and he loved her. And he was living with her. If this was what a stable relationship was like then sign him up because damn, he liked it, and he wanted all the rest of it too.

So when he came in and she all but bolted off the couch in shock. “Oliver! You’re back?”

“Yeah, got everything wrapped up a few days early,” he declared. “Figured I’d test-drive the key you insisted was completely essential.”

“Oh, I mean, great!” she said, trying to look pleased about it, but she just looked…nervous. “Well, you must be tired from all that travelling, right?” she said, jumping to her feet as she glanced at the kitchen.

“Actually, I’m starving,” he declared. “Do we have anything for lunch, or do you want me to run to the store?”

That was another thing they did well. Balancing chores. Who’d have thought?

“We’ve got enough, I think. I’ve been pretty busy at the foundry the last few days so I haven’t really been home. Maybe don’t trust the bread.” She said, going back to the tablet she was pottering about on in her lap.

“Or the dishes?” he asked with an amused tone, spotting the pile of dishes beside the sink that needed washing.

She looked over with an apologetic look. “Yeah, sorry about that. Late night. I’ll do them later.”

“No problem,” he said, looking over to see the finished lights all blinking on the dishwasher. “I’ll grab one straight from the dishwasher–”

“–OLIVER, NO!”

Three things happened in the next two seconds.

Firstly, there was a crash as Felicity all but threw her tablet across the room.

Secondly, she scrambled over the back of the couch, tripping on her way to stop him from opening the dishwasher.

And lastly, Oliver opened up the dishwasher to find a single item inside it. A bright pink realistically-shaped dildo.

Before he could react to the sight, the dishwasher door was slammed just by Felicity who’s cheeks turned a similar colour to what he had just seen and she was pushing him away. “Oh god, I’m so embarrassed. I can’t believe you just…you weren’t supposed to be home until Friday!”

“What…is this something that happens a lot?” he spluttered, regaining his voice as he retreated with wide eyes to the other side of the kitchen.

“Of course not!”

“Why is in the dishwasher?” he asked breathlessly. “We wash dishes in there!”

“I didn’t put any dishes in it at the same time!” she pointed out, her face turning steadily redder and he realised that he was matching her skin tone.

“The dishwasher, Felicity?”

“The guy in the store said that it was dishwasher safe!”

“Why is that a question you ask when you’re buying a…?”

“You have to keep them clean, Oliver!” she yelled. “They go…places…and you have to clean them because infections are nasty things and I am not planning on having one and really I am totally doing a responsible thing here.”

“But anyone could have-”

“-nobody was here!-”

“-I didn’t even know-”

“-Well, I wasn’t going to tell-”

“Felicity!” he cut her off, and she looked at him for the first time, hands gripping in her hair in a mix of frustration and sheer embarrassment. “Is me being here…preventing things?” he asked somewhat hesitantly, trying to focus more on the idea that she was considering dating an unfeasible task while he was staying there and not at all thinking about her using that sex toy in the room next to where he slept.

“Things? Like…?”

“Like, dating…”

“Oh, god!” her hands flew up to cover her face in embarrassment. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. Can we just…stop, like, twenty seconds ago and pretend this never happened?”

“I just saw your sex toy in the dishwasher, Felicity, I don’t think I can forget that,” he deadpanned, gripping the counter behind him.

“Oh my god,” she moaned into her hands. “I just…thought you were away until Friday. Things have been a bit…tense, lately. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, and sometimes taking matters into your own hands just isn’t enough, and so I went to a store and I’ve never bought anything like that before so the guy recommended it and he said it was dishwasher proof so I just put it in to wash it before….”

She spoke in one breath, barely pausing and rushing over every word as if it might get the conversation finished quicker. But she stopped and he caught that last word, eyes wide with all breath leaving his chest because-

“…before?” he prompted.

She said nothing, curling in on herself to avoid speaking.

“Felicity…” he pushed away from the counter and approached her.

“Please can we stop talking about this?” she cringed, going to move but stopping when he braced his arms on either side of her, trapping her between him and the counter. “Oliver-”

“Finish that sentence,” he said, his voice dark as he looked down at her.

“Oliver-”

“Felicity,” he said, his voice almost a purr it was so rumbled. “Were you about to use that before I got here?” he asked her.

Her breath caught in her throat, her eyes slamming shut. She was biting through her lip so hard that he subconsciously licked at his own. His entire body was running on a livewire now in anticipation of her answer.

“Felicity, please answer me,” he whispered.

“Yes,” she admitted shamefully.

“And when you talked about taking matters into your own hands?” he asked.

“Yes,” she repeated.

“So you’ve been…? While I’ve been here?”

“Yes.”

He groaned before he could stop himself, his head dipping and his forehead landing against the side of her head where she was turned away from him. He was willing his body not to react, but the thought of her touching herself in the room next to where he was sleeping, only three feet away if you removed the wall, was hard for him to ignore.

“It’s all your fault,” she murmured, and his head snapped up.

“My fault?” he questioned.

“You’re here all the time,” she reminded. “You work out without your shirt on, you sleep without your shirt on, do you realise how rarely you actually wear a shirt?” she asked him, blindly gesturing to his chest. “A woman has limits, Oliver. And you aren’t exactly subtle when you’re in the shower.”

“What do you mean when I’m-?”

“Bathrooms echo, Oliver,” she told him, her head snapping around so she could face him. “So you’re trying to be quiet and you’re moaning my name - which I don’t think you realise you’re doing out loud - I can hear you. Very clearly. Every morning.”

It was his turn to flush red and be stunned into silence. He stammered over his words. “F..felicity, I-”

“I don’t mind,” she said quietly, a shy tone in her voice.

“You don’t…?”

“It’s…flattering, I suppose. That you think of me that way.”

He swallowed thickly, his eyes flickering down. “It’s not…what you think,” he tried to explain.

“Oh,” she said quietly. The tone of the room dropped considerably.

“It’s not a…proximity thing,” he assured her. “It’s not just because it’s been a while. I just…genuinely like you.”

Her head snapped back in disbelief. “You…like me?”

“Yeah,” he breathed out. “Staying here has been the best kind of torture,” he admitted. “Thinking of you with…that,” he gestured to the dishwasher. “Kinda…destroying me inside,” he tried to cover it with a laugh.

“Oh,” she said again, more breathless than before.

“I don’t think you’re going to need it,” he told her, taking a step closer to her, relieved when she didn’t step away.

“No?” she said with a small sound of disbelief.

He shook his head, his eyes darkening. “I can do better.”

She bit her lip. “Are you sure? The guy in the store said it was the best one.”

“I’m better,” he insisted again.

“It’s life-size,” she argued weakly. “Supposedly the most accurate you can buy.”

“I’m…more gifted than average,” he phrased it carefully. He was proud of what he had. “I also have a built in recharge, no batteries required, waterproof and I highly recommend usage in the shower, One hundred percent satisfaction guaranteed. No returns.”

His lips were on hers before she could answer, and she leapt at him as if she’d been waiting for him to make the move for so long.


	4. Enlightenment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Smut to make up for all the angst

Summer with Felicity becomes his favourite time of year, purely for her wardrobe choices. He loved winter and the way her large sweaters swamped her in the foundry, and the way spring brought with it the knee-length dresses and how the covered heels came out in winter. Whether it was him or the heat that bought the clothes from her body, all Oliver knew was that he loved summer.

Summer began in isolated bed and breakfasts with squeaky bedsprings that had them biting their lips to contain their laughter before they gave up and moved to the floor. They’d almost gotten carried away in the car before realising how publically they were parked. But the real discovery came down when his lips were trailing down her stomach towards a much sweeter goal and then he felt her skin jumping beneath his touch with a simple sound that became the song of new horizons to him.

“Oh!”

Felicity, he learned, was not as sexually adventurous as he’d once imagined. He’d had many years to imagine all the ways he wanted to take her, all the ways he wanted to make her feel, but these were all acts he’d done before. He’d learned more about sex in the four colleges he attended than anything else, and if there was one thing that Oliver Queen could pride himself on, it was that he knew how to make a woman’s toes curl.

In Nanda Parbat, it’d been easy to see her surprised excitement as what he was feeling; the disbelief and utter amazement that this was finally happening for them, that he hadn’t actually seen it. Then, as his lips traced a safer circle around her navel, she told him.

She’d lost her virginity in a college dorm with a boy who’d barely known how to work his own body, let alone hers. It had been a fumbled rump between a duvet that didn’t smell all that good, and sure, she loved Cooper in his own way, but he was far more gifted with his hands when he had them on a computer. Dorm sex was sloppy, muted, and usually ending with a shift of ‘is that it?’ for her while he passed out or returned to his computer.

There had been a few short relationships between, none that had resulted in anything that made her eyes roll back.

There hadn’t been anything with Barry, that had comforted him a little.

The mention of Ray made his jealousy flare up. Ray, she’d told him, was still so lost in his dead wife that he was all about being the gentlemen, and had been strictly missionary and while it had been…nice. It was merely that.

Oliver had changed everything for her. Oliver had brought passion, shown her that heated kisses did twisty things to her stomach and that was only the beginning. He wanted to tell her something cheesy about how that was the love he felt for her, but really, all he was focusing on at that moment was that he was the first man who had really made her feel anything.

He wanted to show her more.

And thus began the sexual awakening of Felicity Smoak.

He’d immediately gone to show her the joys of having a man between her legs until she was sobbing her way through her fourth orgasm and his face was soaked in her essence.

The next morning he’d taken her against the wall of the shower, though that had ended in more laughter than blinding passion when they’d gotten slightly out of control and brought the entire tray of shampoo and body wash into the tub with them.

Seeing her dozing on her side had given him another opportunity to make her gasp, and he’d eased in behind her and raised her leg, waking her just in time to enjoy the length of her him against her slit before he fucked her hard enough that her fingernails tore through the cheap hotel pillow case.

He hadn’t thought it was possible to fall more in love with her, but he did. It was primal, possessive, and he hated to objectify her in that way but Felicity was finally his and he wanted to show her that he deserved her. He wasn’t a good man but he was good at this, and maybe it was exactly what they needed in life.

The thought that his days would be forever filled with her tight body fluttering around his had him staggering over her back, pressing his chest against her arched spine and spiralling into one of the strongest orgasms of his life. He might have spent his days claiming her in as many various ways as possible - against the bathroom counter, in the front seat of the car, bent over the hood of the car - but he belonged inexplicitly to this woman and he was not afraid to say it.

The turning point was when they’d gone out for dinner in Vegas. Her mother hadn’t joined them as it was their last night in the city so he’d sprung for the expensive hotel room and taken her somewhere fancy because if they were going to head back to accept her CEO position then they were going to end this roadtrip with a bang.

Literally.

He whispered all of his plans to her in the back of the taxi, and that would usually have her melting into his palms and biting her lip, but this time she was cool and collected, playful as she turned to him with a smirk on her lips.

“We’ll see.”

That floored him.

He floored her right back when he slid his hand beneath her dress at the table and dared her to stay quiet as she enjoyed her dessert. He’d been right, she did taste better than the chocolate cake. He even spread a taste of the frosting against the inside of her thigh and promised to clean it up later.

When they arrived at the room, she was near silent, he wondered if he was taking things too far. He’d never touched her publically in that way before. Sure, with the car it had been public but they’d been certain no one was around. The restaurant? Crowded beyond belief. She’d lied to a waiter about having leg cramp when a moan slipped past her lips, and really, he admired her for only letting one out and not biting through her lip when she came because he knew he’d found that sweet spot that made her keen his name usually when she quaked around his fingers.

She’d told him to wait as she excused herself to the bathroom, and when she came back, he fell for her a thousand times over.

Stockings came up to her thighs, ending just barely to show a hint of creamy flesh before the rest of her was covered in a leather bodice. His mouth ran dry. He was sure he’d never been so hard in his life.

“Felicity,” he said darkly, licking his lips.

She looked shy as she approached him, tucking her hair behind her ear. “You’ve enlightened me,” she explained even though he hadn’t asked. “I thought it was about time someone enlightened you.”

Enlightened didn’t cover it.

He pulled one of her legs up to the mattress, exposing her to him, but directing his lips to her thigh. “You always enlighten me,” he murmered as he kissed his way towards his prize. “But if you can remember your own name by sunrise, I will have failed this Felicity.”


	5. Yes, Officer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Entirely the fault of aussieforgood and diggo26

She’s alone when the door opens. She’s alone in the Arrow cave (they’re allowed to call it that way now), and she’s working over her computers. The chair is currently housing a stack of books on programming so she’s leaning forward over the desk to make sure she can still type as she needs to.

The door slams closed. She hears him approaching her.

Step.

Step.

Step.

Oliver steps behind Felicity, his footsteps echoing in the darkness until the only sound is his heavy breaths against the back of her neck. She’s still, anticipation burning through her veins until his hands fall onto her hips, sliding a path upwards that brings his palms in contact with her bare skin. “You’re going to need to bend forward slightly, miss,” he purred as his hand grasped at her lace-clad breasts. “I’m going to need to frisk you….”

She swallows.

They’ve been talking about fantasies lately, and what had started out as something incredibly embarrassing has become something that is making her blood pound. They’ve decided to combine each of theirs - his being sex in the lair, and hers being the idea of him in a policeman uniform. He tries not to make any comments about where he was going to get a uniform, expecting her to say something about the Hood and his mask instead, but she insisted if he got his fantasy then she wanted hers.

And god, she wants it.

She does as he asks, leaning forward with her hands planted against the desk. She looked over her shoulder shyly at him, even batting her eyelashes while she drinks in the sight of him in that navy blue uniform, even a hat tucked underneath his arm. It screams Halloween costume, but it’s more than enough for what she needs and she’s already burning with longing.

“What seems to be the problem, officer?” she asks innocently.

“We’ve received reports that you’ve been dealing in bad things, Miss Smoak,” he tells her in a teasing voice, though his face is cold and stone-like. He’s close behind her now, ghosting his lips over her throat before she feels his teeth pulling at her earlobe and she’s holding back a moan. “I came to investigate just how bad you’ve been…”

His hands begin a slow search of her body, lingering on her stomach and hips until he’s back at her breasts, cupping them with a satisfied hum before he pushes down the spaghetti strap sleeves of her dress just enough that it makes it easy for him to remove her bra.

“We’ll need to remove this for safety reasons,” he purred against her ear. “You could be concealing weapons.”

“Yes, officer,” she gasps out, forcing herself to remain still but damn, it was hot just how much he was into this.

He releases her breasts, dropping her bra to the ground in a heap and pressing his back against her chest, his fingertips barely tracing the sensitive, smooth skin around her nipple. “These feel intriguing, don’t they?” he mused. “Are you carrying a permit for these?”

She sucks in a breath, the touch of his fingertips sending a bolt of arousal straight to the pit of her stomach.

When she doesn’t answer, he pinches them tightly, drawing a cry from her lips that has her arching back into him. “Answer me!” he grows at her.

“No, officer,” she gasps out.

He continues his investigation of her body, and she soon hears the pile of books being tossed off the chair which he brings behind her. He sits down, allowing him a very good view of her backside as he starts to trail his hands up from her knees. Once he reaches her inner thighs, she’s more than ready for him to start satisfying her. The teasing, while nice, is driving her senses insane, but as his hand disappear up the skirt of her dress, she was dripping in anticipation for him.

“All clear,” he mutters darkly, skating his hands up the inside of her thighs in a way that has her legs shaking beneath her.

His hands trail a little higher and stop. All movement stops and she’s left with a longing in her stomach that almost has her breaking this arrangement, turning around and stripping that uniform off him.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” he asks darkly, removing his hands and lifting the skirt of her dress completely, baring her skin to the cool air of the room. “No underwear, Miss?” he asks, finally tracing a single fingertip of her dripping slit and he’s rewarded with a low cry as she arches into his touch. “You have been a very bad girl, haven’t you?”

“Yes, officer,” she pants, desperate for more of him.

He places his hands on her cheeks, parting them to reveal her glistening centre to him, and without any further pretences of teasing he plunges his tongue into her. She pushes back against his face, feeling his fingertips grip into her hips to hold him against her in the perfect angle to devour her. She loves this, his mouth on her, tongue flattened against her clit like a starving man with a hot meal. She’s so tense from his teasing that this relief of touch makes her legs buckle, but he holds her firmly and pushes his tongue into her. She keens, pressing back for more, rewarded when his hand sneaks around the front of her groin and presses hard against her clit.

Wetness floods against his tongue, causing a guttural moan to vibrate against her, and she’s crying out his name as she falls over the edge, her body clamping down yet still longing to be filled. He doesn’t let up as she rides through her orgasm, switching his attentions so it was his fingers stroking inside her while he suckled at her clit. Before long she’s whimpering and begging, though she isn’t sure whether she needs him to stop or give him more until she feels him pull away and she knows it’s more, more, more…

And then she hears his belt.

His zipper.

And finally, she hears and sees nothing and all she can feel is the heat of his thick length sheathing inside her. His name falls from her lips, all pretence of their game forgotten as she grips the edge of the desk and allows him to thrust into her, hard and fast until she’s right on the edge again. She can hear him grunting, feel his fingers holding her so tightly she knows she’ll have bruises in the morning, and he’s hitting a spot inside her that’s making her toes curl up in her heels and she’s trying to thrust her hips back against him as much as his grip will allow.

He takes her roughly, his lips sealed to her neck and sucking at the skin as he loses himself in her body. This is his fantasy, she knows between the blurs of ‘harder’, ‘more’ and ‘don’t stop’, and while they’ve always been open about trying new things, this is the closest to anything public they’ve got. He didn’t even lock the door, she realises, and that sends a thrill through her that has her spiralling into another orgasm,

After that she’s reliant on her shaking arms to hold her up as his control falters and his thrusts are erratic before he’s shouting her name. He throbs inside her, burying as deep as he can as she feels that familiar warmth spreading through her. After, he collapses against her, the two of them catching their breaths against the desk and enjoying the tremors of pleasure that wracked their bodies.

Oliver presses a softer kiss to her shoulder, and the laughter starts, both of them overcome with the amusement as the echo of giggles surrounds them. “I can’t believe we just did that,” Oliver half-pants.

“I can’t believe you got the uniform,” Felicity agrees, turning at last and replacing the skirt of her dress before she places her hand on his chest. “It suits you.”

“Don’t even,” he warned her with a smirk on his lips.

“I’m serious,” she laughed. “Maybe we should keep it.”

Oliver goes to argue, but then a deeper smile overcomes him as he reaches behind him. “We can’t keep the outfit, but we can keep these,” he tells her, brandishing the handcuffs he’d had clipped to his pocket.

Felicity goes silent, her lips parting before she breathes out two words only. “Home. Now.”


	6. The Anniversary Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said:
> 
> Prompt: married! Olicity trying to keep their spark alive with their busy schedules and children

When Oliver rolled off her and they retreated to their respective pillows, they each took a moment to regain their breath. Only a moment. Within seconds the room was in silence. The couple were still. This wasn’t an afterglow. There were no lingering touches, soft kisses or whispered words.

Well, the words were whispered.

“Did we just…?”

“No,” Oliver said quickly, shaking his head. “No, definitely not.”

“I think we did,” she said in a mild panic.

“We can’t have,” he stressed. “We’re…us. We don’t…have bad sex.”

“We had bad sex.”

“But we both…”

“I know, but it was…”

“And when we…”

“We didn’t even…”

The silence fell again, and the excuses just came to them. You were tired. I was tired. It’s already late. We have to get up early with the kids. They didn’t go down ‘til late tonight anyway. The baby will be up soon. We just had a long day.

“We had bad sex,” they both said in unison.

–

The following night, they put the kids to bed early and made a plan. In three weeks, it was their anniversary. They needed good sex. They needed sex, period. Since their youngest, Tommy, was born five months ago they’d only found time for sex once. Having a newborn and a toddler at the same time was a terrible, terrible idea and they couldn’t fathom how they once juggled the diapers, night feeds and teething patterns of an infant alone, let alone in addition to the potty training, no-more-pacifiers and no-more-crib stages of the terrible twos.

As people, they were ghosts. They barely slept. More often than not, Tommy’s screams woke Ava, who would discover that her parents had snuck her out of their bed and into their own again and she would start crying for her parents. It was a tough time. One of them would end up dealing with Ava’s temper tantrum while the other dealt with Tommy. They hardly ate, unless you counted the crusts of Ava’s sandwiches, her leftover cereal and chicken nuggets, and you know, those jars of baby food actually aren’t that bad when you’re trying to pretend you’re eating it and it accidentally gets on your lips.

They definitely didn’t have sex.

It wasn’t that they didn’t want to. They really wanted to.

But they had a toddler who climbed into their bed at the worst moments and then the baby cried and some nights they were so tired and they…had bad sex.

So they made the anniversary plan.

They booked a hotel room for their anniversary, offered to fly Donna in for the week from Vegas to spend time with them on the condition that could she please, please, take the kids for a night so they could properly celebrate their anniversary for the first time since they had kids, and decided to take sex off the table.

Well, everything but sex.

They chose to get back to the foreplay, rather than try to rush sex before they had to break apart and deal with a disgruntled child. They’d tease each other into oblivion so when they had an uninterrupted night they appreciated it, worshipped it, worshipped each other.

Foolproof plan, right?

In theory.

–

The following morning at breakfast, Felicity was feeding Tommy in his high-chair when she felt Oliver’s hands cup her through her pyjama pants, and she gasped. He said nothing, his eyes glued to where he could see through to the living room where Ava was quietly watching TV. Tommy was more interested in trying to feed himself than anything else, but she tried to remain still as he teased her, his fingers pressing against her just not comparing to the touch of him against her bare flesh.

He stopped when she started biting on her lip, kissing her briefly as he explained he had to meet John for a run, and he went to kiss Ava goodbye. Felicity followed him out to the hall to say a goodbye of her own and she let him close the kitchen door behind them and he wasted no time pushing her against the wall and sliding his hand into her pants.

His rough kiss hid her moans as he buried his fingers inside her, and his pace fast even as she clenched and came around him, bearing down on her hand and fuck, when was the last time she’d had an orgasm like that? He drew his hand away from her, licking his fingers clean and giving her a filthy look as he wished her luck with the kids that day and made his way out of the house.

–

A few days later, Felicity made sure to exchange her usual pyjamas for a knee-length nightgown that was more a dress than anything else. With her satin bathrobe it was innocent enough, but Oliver was drawn to the way she moved in it, the urge to lift it up around her hips and bury into her, but he’d been up with Tommy since 3am and he was nothing short of relieved when Felicity carried their infant son up to bed and he definitely watched that nightgown ride up her legs when she returned to take their sleeping toddler upstairs a few minutes later.

By the time she came back downstairs he was almost asleep on the couch, but he certainly found the energy to bury his hands in her hair when she knelt before him and took him in her mouth. It took him only two embarrassing minutes to come down her throat, but she was looking at him with that perfect mix of love and lust and he couldn’t be more content in that moment.

–

After that, the game was on. He followed her into the shower and fucked her with his fingers until the baby monitor started screaming at them and they were both left unsatisfied. She teased him under the dinner table until he was almost choking on his chicken and Ava was asking him what was wrong. He woke her in the middle of the night and was halfway through kissing a path down her body when he swiftly fell off the bed when a tiny voice asked him “Daddy, what are you doing?”

They couldn’t catch a break.

–

By the time their anniversary dinner came around, they were starving, and not for the food.

Oliver was rolling his thumb against his finger, and all she could think about was how good it would feel to have that action against her breast. Her finger was unconsciously stroking the handle of her knife, and his eyes were glued to it as if he were already imagining the way she’d stroke him. They chose a secluded corner where they could sit beside each other, rather than opposite one another, and with their thighs pressed up against each others, it wasn’t long until their food was forgotten and Oliver had one arm around her shoulders while his lips were plastered to her neck.

“About dessert….” Felicity murmured, stifling a moan by biting her lip.

“I’m enjoying mine right now,” Oliver rumbled against her throat.

“Skip it,” she gasped out when his hand started trailing very high up her thigh. “I didn’t wear underwear for a reason.”

“You didn’t wear underwear?” he asked, his head spinning as he pushed his hand beneath her dress and discovered that for himself. He groaned against her, barely pulling his hand away quick enough to flag down a waiter with a choked out; “cheque please.”

–

He expected everything to be fury when they reached the hotel room, but the taxi rise was relatively calming for them. They sat with their arms looped, and since neither of them wanted a Mayor’s scandal of public indecency their kisses in the car were more innocent, searching, as if they were rediscovering the early days of their relationship.

Once they reached the hotel room, their first port of call was to call home and check on the kids. Ava had woken up with a nightmare, and they put the phone on speaker when Donna passed the phone to her to speak and they promised her they’d be home in the morning. When she took the phone off speaker and went back to talking to her mother who was demanding dinner details, Oliver stepped away with a kiss to the side of her head and began lighting candles around the room.

When Felicity hung up and turned to him, she couldn’t help but sigh, sitting down on the edge of the bed and toeing off her shoes. It was mesmerising, the sight of her husband moving around the room in his dress shirt and suspenders, the collar open and the sleeves rolled open. His entire focus was on the candle, and for a moment in the dim light of the room she couldn’t see him as a father of a newborn who was desperate for sleep.

“I’ve spent three weeks counting down to the moment we were alone in this room,” he said softly, watching her from across the room with his hands in his pockets. “I was going to have you up against the door first, probably before I could get your dress off properly…I was going to fuck you so hard and I…” He broke off, moving closer until he was standing right before her, pulling her by her hands until she was standing in front of him and he could trace his fingers over her lips. “Do you know much I love you?” he whispered.

“Of course I do,” she murmured back, placing a kiss to his fingertips as her hands slowly unbuttoned his shirt.

“I mean it,” he pressed, lowered his forehead to hers as her fingers worked. “I love you so much. You’re so beautiful, so perfect, so purely loving and I’m so lucky to have you, to have a family with you…” He sighed as his lips ghosted over hers.

“We don’t need to feel guilty about needing time away from the kids,” she assures him in a whisper when she knew what he was really saying. “We love them. They’re healthy, they’re loved, they’re very happy…when they aren’t crying,” she added with a smile that has him huffing a laugh against her lips. “We still need time for us.”

“We do,” he murmured, when her hands slipped beneath his shirt and slid it off his shoulders. “But I’m not going to fuck you tonight,” he repeated his earlier words.

“No?” she asked, her voice light.

“No,” he said firmly, his hands trailing to unzip her dress, slipping it off until it pooled around her ankles at the ground. “You’re my wife. It’s our anniversary. We have been married for five wonderful years…the best five years of my life,” he breathed against her with a smile. “And i am going to make love to you.”

And he did.

They’d planned a night of rough, loud sex, the kind that was impossible to have with sleeping children in the house. Instead, they lost themselves in an evening of whispered moans, gentle caresses, but without interruptions. They rediscovered each other’s bodies over and over, and while Felicity lost count of how many times she fell over the edge in a quivering mess, but the time that mattered was the last time, when they came together with moans so full of contentment and longing, that they stayed wrapped in each other for a long time.

It wasn’t until Oliver had softened and slipped out of her, the sun rising outside their window, candles burned out, that they collapsed beside each other. They panted for their breath to return to them, more from the prolonged shuddering breaths through the evening than physical exertion, and simultaneously they raised their arms, looked at each other…

…and high-fived one another.

“Now that’s how you have good sex.”

“Ain’t no sex like married sex.”


	7. Get Out, Thea!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said:
> 
> If you are still taking prompts, I know you have a lot but I think this would be hilarious: Oliver and Felicity are living at the loft with Thea. And Thea walks in on them in the bedroom…..

He was pulsing within her, his entire body inflamed with the need for more, for deeper, for harder, for everything she was gasping for him to do as he pounded his body against hers. He was steadily climbing towards his release, that sweet moment where his body was not his own, where every inch of him existed onto to be buried within her, her body clenching around him and pulling in closer. Her body arched beneath him, and god, she wasn’t quiet. He loved that about her. She cried his name, moaned for more, eyes slammed shut as he felt the start of his orgasm building, teasing, about to–

“Hey, Felicity, did you want me to–OH MY GOD!!”

Oliver wasn’t sure when the door was opened, but he was past the point of no return and while their heads both whipped to the door in sheer horror, it set of a chain reaction that Oliver definitely never, ever wanted to occur in front of his little sister.

In Felicity’s shock, she tensed, and when she tensed, she clenched so tightly around him that Oliver’s vision whited out. He buried his hips flush against hers as he came, dipping his head and hiding his face with an embarrassed groan, fighting every urge he had to rock through his orgasm. Unfortunately, it didn’t help that Felicity rippled around him, and he realised that she was so close to her orgasm even with Thea standing…right…there….

“Oh my god.”

“Get out, Thea,” Oliver groaned.

“Did you seriously just-”

“Get out, Thea!”

“While I was standing right here?”

“GET OUT, THEA!” He roared, and his sister scampered from the room, slamming the door closed behind her. The second she was gone, Oliver groaned heavily into Felicity’s collarbone. “Oh god…”

“That was the worst,” Felicity moaned, bringing her hands up to cover her face.

Oliver lifted his head, his expression incredulously.

“Not you!” she rushed. “Thea! Oh god, and you…and she was…”

“I couldn’t stop!” he said defensively.

Felicity fell back against the pillow, the movement shifting Oliver within her, reminding how close she’d been with a gasped whimper. Oliver twitched within her, her body reminding him just how sensitive his was.

He slipped out of her, ignoring her protesting moan, but when he shifted beside her and slid his fingers into her she gasped. “We shouldn’t-”

“You’re close,” he breathed out against her lips. “I can’t leave you like this.”

She didn’t protest anymore, and he curled his fingers within her, grazing his fingertips against her walls until she bit into his kiss, arching up against him with a keening cry. But he didn’t stop there, once he found the spot that had her quivering, he pushed his palm against her and stroked it relentlessly until she was moaning and tightening around him, his hand coated in her release.

He pressed against her, kissing her between her gasps of breath, and they wound around each other once more. “It’s official,” she panted. “We can never leave this room again.”

“How do we look her in the eye?” he wondered, both their cheeks flushing red.

“We don’t,” Felicity said simply, and when she sighed, she looked at him curiously, shifting her leg and found that it grazed his groin and he was more than ready again. “Really? After that?”

He bit his lip, caught out like a naughty child. “I like watching you come,” he confessed. “And you know, since we can’t leave the room for at least a week now…”

Felicity laughed lightly, swatting at his shoulder. “At least go and lock the door first.”


	8. Sexual Frustration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said:
> 
> I miss the sexual tension of S3, could you write something where Felicity is unknowingly turning Oliver on and it starts to become very obvious… if you know what I mean ;)

“So, what’s with the ‘grr’ face?”

He looked up when he hears her voice, astounded that he was so lost in thought that he hadn’t heard the clacking of her heels against the tiled floor. He sighed heavily, leaning back and running a hand over his features. “I don’t have a ‘grr’ face,” he grumbled defensively.

“Yeah, you kinda do,” she teased lightly, approaching his side, setting her hand on his shoulder. “What’s the problem? Are you neglecting my babies?”

He turned his gaze back to the computer screen. Neglecting wasn’t strong enough word. He’d probably murdered them. “Kinda,” he confessed.

“Alright, let’s fix it,” she replies, with far too much patience for someone who has just discovered spyware on the most precious and expensive computer systems she’d ever touched.

She leaned over where he was sat in front of her computers, and he pushed out slightly to avoid getting in her way, but it just caused him a bigger problem.

Namely, the spectacular view of her ass.

He let out a frustrated sigh that was nothing to do with the computers. Since taking over Palmer Tech, he hadn’t seen as much of her as he’d like, and with all the long hours she’d been putting in and the extra email time she’d had at home, it’d been more regular for him to carry her from the couch to bed with her glasses askew then it had to undress her in a heat of passion.

And now the computer had broken, and the coffee machine was empty, and he just really, really, needed an outlet.

So yeah, he was going to stare at his girlfriend’s ass while she fixed the computer. He had that right, right?

“Did you download anything?” she asked him with a frown on her face. He could see her face reflected in the screen, but he was more focused on her curves.

“No,” he muttered distractedly.

“What about the virus scan, you let that run this morning, right?”

“I didn’t cancel anything,” he remembered vaguely, feeling a stirring in his groin that only came from the sight of her bending over in front of him.

She took a deep breath of thought that caused her back to arch slightly, and she inched closer to him with a result. He bit back a groan, and closed his eyes. He was hard so quickly it was almost embarrassing. She wasn’t even doing it on purpose.

That just made it worse for him. How could she be so unaware of this effect she had on him?

“Oliver?”

He snapped his head up, shaking slightly as he met her eyes. “Hmm?”

“I asked you if you’ve had any other problems with it today?”

He shook his head.

She turned back to the computer, then gave a sigh. “Okay, let me check the hardware.”

And then she moved out of his sightline. He would have been grateful if he hadn’t wanted to press her against the wall so badly but then—

Then she was underneath the desk between his legs inspecting the hard drive on the floor. “Felicity?” he gulped.

She leaned against his knee for leverage, her face turned away from him, but as he was only wearing shorts he could feel her strained breaths as she reached, each tiny gust of air hitting his knee and going straight groin. “Hold still a moment,” she told him.

“Felicity-”

She had to move. He couldn’t have her there.

“I think the network cable has come out, I just need to-”

No. Not good enough. Now.

“Felicity-”

Move. Please. Move, or do something.

“I just need to-”

“Fe-li-ci-ty,” he growled out.

She turned where she was sat, a frustrated frown on her forehead until she came almost face to face with the large bulge in his shorts and he brought his hands up to his face in shame. “Oh!” she exclaimed.

“I’m sorry,” he moaned into his hands, though surprisingly the same didn’t sober the moment for him. He was still thickening with the need for her. “I just…really…need you, and you’re right there,” he breathed in irritation. “I’m sorry. Just…carry on. Ignore it.”

She crawled out from underneath the desk, landing down in his lap instead in a way that had him groan and rest his forehead against hers until he tilted his head right back. He was downright throbbing for her now, and inhaling her scent wasn’t helping. “I didn’t realise I was…”

“You were leaning over the desk in front of me,” he pointed out with a small laugh. “I was three seconds away from burying my face in you.”

Her fingers trailed up his chest. “You know you’re allowed do that now, right?” she reminded him with a raised eyebrow. “We’re at home, we have needs, no one can interrupt us here.”

“I know, but you’re…you’ve been busy, and-”

She bit her lip with amusement. “Would you seriously not do that without my permission?” she asked.

He frowned a little. “It seemed…polite.”

“Is there anything polite about putting your face there?” she challenged him.

“I’m polite enough to give you one hell of an orgasm when I do,” he pointed out.

She shifted in his lap, drawing a long groan from him. “Prove it.”

He growled, not waiting to be challenged twice, and already rehearsing the apology in his head for shattering her computer screen when he swept it to the floor and set her in it’s place.


	9. Do You Take This Man?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> smoaking-greenarrow said:
> 
> Oliver and Felicity having allllll the smutty wedding sex at Thea and Roy’s wedding! ;)

It starts the moment he sees her in her maid-of-honour gown, in that deep dusky pink dress (dusky, there’s a word he never knew was a part of a colour before) that his sister chose for her, and it hugs her hips perfectly. It frames her just as she was meant to be presented to the world; here is a beautiful woman. See her, cherish her, don’t touch her or look at her inappropriately because she is mine and I will fuck you up in ways you never imagined.

Though, speaking of fucking…

“Behave,” she tells him, as she takes his hand through the reception dinner, removing it from where it was sneaking up her thigh.

“Make me,” he murmurs back, his attention firmly on his food.

She doesn’t. There’s a thrill in it, the way his hand inches up her thigh towards the warmth that awaits him, and he’s so, so fucking glad that Thea went for these knee-length (“they’re called tea dresses, Oliver” “I don’t know why, there’s nothing tea-like about it. Tea is civilised, that dress is a tease”) dresses that make it so, so easy for him so cup his hand against her underwear which his already damp from his sly touches.

What was it about weddings that drove women insane?

He teases her with a single swipe of his fingertip against her slick lips before he’s clearing his throat and standing up. She almost glares at him for stopping before realising that yes, maybe the speeches for his position as best man to Roy and brother-of-the-bride to Thea were slightly more important than screwing her with his fingers beneath the dinner table in a room of over three-hundred people.

For now.

–

He catches her next during a dance. He’s behaved himself for a while, but then he saw her almost gliding across the room with a glass of champagne in her hand and his blood starts to heat again. Champagne does very interesting things to Felicity; he thinks its the way the bubbles react with her babbles, but it always ends with some of the more cherished memories he’s tucked away as thoughts to recall through a lonely shower episode.

Champagne in her hands mean that when they arrive back to the hotel room upstairs (he didn’t want to waste time with travelling home, it had been a good investment).

Champagne meant she’d be on her knees before midnight and he’d be twisting those butterfly clips out of her perfectly made up hair.

Champagne meant that Oliver Queen was getting laid, ladies and gentlemen, sex was imminent, sound the alarm, he was about to get some.

He cleared his throat, putting his own glass aside and casually whirling her onto the dancefloor. See, she thinks the same about dancing as he thinks about champagne. Dancing Oliver Queen is a rarity, but today is his sister’s wedding day and now that he’s given the groom his threatening older brother speech for the sixty-eighth time he’s just…happy. Dancing Oliver usually ended in moves off the dance floor, Dancing Oliver usually makes her sing while his tongue does a dance of it’s own.

He kisses her sweetly, tenderly, and it completely betrays the intentions of the bulge he’s pressing against her stomach as they dance. He leans to her ear, and usually he’d tell her that he loves her, tell her that she looks beautiful, tell her that he’s remembering their wedding day and how beautiful she was then too, but he doesn’t. Instead, he curls his tongue around the shell of her ear, tugging the lobe between his teeth before he pants hot breath against it with his words.

“I’m going to fuck you until you can’t speak.”

Now, speechless Felicity is a rare thing, even during sex. She’s vocal, of course she is - he’s Oliver freaking Queen, and he knows what he’s doing. Even the repetitions of ‘wow’ are counted as talking, and tonight there wouldn’t be any vocalising after what he had in mind.

–

How they make it through the dance, he doesn’t know. Maybe it’s the way she pulled him into the ladies room and made out with him in the stall. Maybe it’s the hand that coasted slightly too far down her back as they made their excuses of having to check something in their room. Maybe it’s the obvious bedroom eyes that finally lured them from the hotel ballroom and towards the suites.

Maybe it’s the way the way she strokes him through his pants in the elevator.

Maybe it’s the way he crowds her against the door as she struggles with the key, unzipping her dress and unclasping her bra in the same action.

It’s definitely the way he slams her against the door the moment it’s shut. Definitely the way that expensive dress hits the ground and she’s in nothing but her panties which are just begging for his fingertips to tear through and god, the sound of ripping fabric has him throbbing in his boxers. Definitely that delicious moan when he drops to his knees in front of her and devours her with his tongue.

–

An hour later, slightly disheveled, they’re back on the dance floor with a more languid dance. People are raising eyebrows in their direction because everything’s slightly off-centre in a way that screams ‘at least four orgasms occurred since you last saw us’ and unless any of them want to discuss what the current score of that batting was (3-1 to Oliver, he’s trying not to look too smug at the idea that she’s leaning against him mainly because her legs are still a little shaky) he didn’t want to do anything but enjoy this moment with his wife.

–

Twenty minutes later, Felicity brings the score back up to 3-2 by forcing him into a janitor’s closet down the hall from the ballroom and making herself comfortable on one of the low shelves as she sucked on him. Despite her insistence that he not damage her hairstyle too much, he grips the curls between his fingers as he thrusts into her mouth, and he ends up having to sneak both back out of and back into the closet so she can fix her lipstick before they go back out.

–

Another hour passes, and their dance has become lazy. They loosely grip each other as their dance becomes a subtle sway of an embrace, interrupted every few moments as guests start to leave and the maid of honour and best man must attend to at least a few duties during the reception. The bride and groom departed for the honeymoon suite a short while ago - something Oliver doesn’t want to think about - and then things are calmer, and it’s just them on a dimly lit dance floor.

This time his touch to her ear is a small nuzzle, the drop of a kiss to the soft dip of her neck. “You look beautiful today,” he whispers to her.

“Thank you,” she replies, rising to her tip-toes to press her lips to his, her arms wrapping around him for a little more leverage to pull him to her level. “You clean up nicely yourself,” she says, one hand dragging down the lapel of his jacket and he’s recalling the moment they shared their first dance as husband and wife in a similar position to this.

It brings a smile to his lips and he leans in to her. “Come on, let’s go to bed, Mrs. Queen.”

–

The next time, they come together. She removes her made up face, lets her curled hair brush into a gentle wave around her shoulders and takes out her contact lenses, and then the beautiful maid of honour is substituted for the sight of his gorgeous wife in her nightgown. It’s a deep purple silk that compliments her skintone perfectly, and he knows she bought it new for tonight, but he’s already ripped clothing off her that evening and now he’s going to make love to his wife.

He takes his time. He savours her, and after a long day, they’re both sleepy and in no rush. They alternate between positions based on comfort rather than pleasure, and when they eventually come together it’s with breathy gasps into their kiss. This is the luxury of lazy Sunday morning just-waking-up-sex on a Saturday night, and it’s just as satisfying as having breakfast food for dinner.

They curl into each other, bodies entwined between the sheets, and if they ended their night with a slow, sensual coupling, it’s shot to hell when he wakes up with the urge to bury his face between his sleeping wife’s legs.


	10. Possession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said: OKAY SO OBVIOUSLY THOSE PICTURES ARE AMAZING, BUT THE ONE WHERE OLIVER IS IN BLUE…HE IS TOTALLY GRABBING HER BUTT I KNOW IT! PLEASE WRITE A FIC ABOUT THAT!!!!!!
> 
> Anonymous said: Prompt where Oliver was always a boob over butt kind of guy until Felicity and her nice butt came into the picture. SMUT GALORE PLEASE

He’s not ashamed to say that he falls in love with her body far quicker than her did her mind.

It’s not entirely that she’s hot in ways she doesn’t see, or that she’s got curves that could put him near death if she moved them in the right way, but it’s what he can do to her body that no one else can.

There’s her hips; dangerous as they rock while she walks in those heels, twisting from side to side in a way that draws all the attention in a room. It’s nothing intentional, it’s just the way she holds herself with more confidence as time goes by, and all wandering eyes are drawn to her. His eyes wander a lot, they always land on her. They produce from beneath those infuriating peplum shirts that make it far too easy for him to slide his hands part-way up her shirt, and she quickly pushes his hands away in case people are watching.

But Oliver can make those hips roll with a mind of their own. He can make them buck wildly as he sinks his teeth into the sensitive flesh, and no one else can do that because she is his. No one else can see these hipbones now that he’s left his marks on her, because there’s only one person who’s allowed to brush their fingertips over the marks that make her quiver with need and it’s him. Hip to hip and everything in between, as far as they’re both concerned, belongs to him.

Just down there are her thighs. He tells her once that when his time comes, he wants his face to be buried there for all eternity and she just laughs and pushes him back to what he was doing with his tongue. Because those thighs are creamy perfection, rounded just enough for him to close his hands around and push them apart so he can press his lips in the delicious space between them. Even when they tighten around his head as she comes apart on his tongue, he feels more at home than he’s ever done.

He loves her wrists, her hands…god the damage they could do - well, digital damage, of course. He loves her, and he knows she tries to train as hard as they do sometimes when she feels concerned about protecting herself, but her wrists are so slim he thinks they might break if she ever really tried to punch somebody. He prepares to see those tiny hands tapping away at her computer, or even better, stroking his length as she teases him. She could hold his entire world in a single hand, and he’d fall apart begging for more.

But at night, when they curl around each other, she puts a hand on his cheek and tells him words he’d never beg to hear but always needs to hear when it’s just the two of them. He knows that the skin on the inside of her wrists is almost hilariously sensitive, but placing his lips there while she cups his face determines whether they’ll spend the next hours sleeping or trying to get inside each other’s skin.

He falls in love with each dangerous curve of her form, her hidden strengths and her loving vulnerability. She never tries to seduce him, she doesn’t have to, her every movement draws him in like a moth to the flame, because she will be his undoing but he wants it so badly. He wants to be undone by her. He wants to be taken apart until all that is left of him is panted breaths and a heart that beats only for her.

But what surprises him is his love of her ass.

It’s crude. It’s surprising. See, Oliver loves breasts. He loves her breasts. He loves to bury his face into a woman’s chest and tighten his teeth around her nipple as he devours her. He loves to hear their mewls reverberate through their chest to spur him on.

But then there’s Felicity’s ass and the world doesn’t make sense anymore.

It’s a fixation he can’t shift. It’s not like he hasn’t seen it before, encased in her pencil skirts like cotton-covered gift wrap, but the first time he takes her from behind he’s sure he’s never come so fast as he does when he’s watching those cheeks ripple from his thrusts. It stuns him, because he’s never considered himself an ass man. He was always drawn to the eye-level curves, but all of a sudden he’s drawn to Felicity’s ass in a way he’s never imagined.

He presses against her during a meeting, letting her know just what he’s thinking about the way she’s casually leaning onto the table. He strokes a hand over it every time he walks past her. He presses his face into it when he’s sat on the couch and she’s leaning over the coffee table. He takes her from behind as often as he can. When she rides him, he curls his fingers into the cheeks. He dips his fingers into the crease and draws a cry of pleasure he’s certain she’s never made before.

He loves her. He loves each part of her body, each reaction, each cry, each movement. It’s not just lust to use her body in other ways, but pure love. He loves each part of her body because that’s who she is. She is the swaying hips that dance across the kitchen as much as she is the bucking ones that bear down on his fingers for more. She is the thighs that saunter through the office as much as she is the ones that part so easily for him to slide into her. She is the wrists that strain to type faster, faster, as much as she is the cool fingers that stroke him until he’s begging to be inside her.

And she’s more than that.

The more he loves her body, the more he loves the rest of her.

He loves her shuffling her feet across the carpet first thing in the morning and he doesn’t always think about dragging her to the nearest surface and giving her a better wake up call. He loves how she only yawns without covering her mouth while she’s pouring coffee, and after a while he sees that as endearing and he isn’t just thinking about her mouth on him instead. He loves how she flicks her hair to the side even if it’s pulled back, and he can now watch her ponytail swinging without thinking about holding onto it as he thrusts into her, or tugging it back to expose more of her throat to his demanding lips.

He loves how she can make him do things, react to things, whisper things he never has before, and that becomes a love of how she loves him with his gone.

He loves her body first. Her mind follows, but only because she hides the best parts of it until he’s too far gone to back away.


	11. All Goes To Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thecolourpurpleinafield said:
> 
> Shower sex the morning after Oliver defeated Ra’s al Ghul (because obviously after Oliver said “I want to be with you” to Felicity, they went back to her place for the night).

He’s got it all planned out. Packing, driving, hotel, long, luxurious sex.

It all goes to hell ten minutes into the morning.

The night before - well, the early hours - they collapse into her bed with barely enough time to remove all their clothes before they’re falling onto her multicoloured flower sheets and sleep is taking them. Oliver can’t remember the last time he’s eager for sleep, but really all he wants is her in his arms, the way she should have been after their first time together, back when time was against them.

She’s still in her underwear and t-shirt when she gives up undressing, but she ensures all his robes are dropped to the ground. He watches her stripping away the layers of Al Sah-Him that still remain, and he makes it down to his boxer shorts before he sags against her and they end up in the sheets.

As much as he’d love to be reminded of what it was like to be inside her, they’re both too tired to do anything other than shuffle into each other’s space and they’re asleep in seconds.

The next morning she gets up and shuffles to the bathroom, and while he wants to wait to ravish her long into the night, her lazy steps are oddly seductive, as is the half-loosened ponytail at an odd angle, her glasses covering bleary barely-open eyes and a hint of drool in the corner of her lips.

It hits him that he has given up everything for this woman. And he loves it.

He loves her.

He follows her without waiting for the offer, strips off his underwear, and no sooner has the blistering water hit her skin is he crowding her against the shower wall, his lips on hers and her legs hoisted around his waist.

She kisses him back slowly at first, letting him move her half-awake form however he desired until his hand slides up to her chest and then she moans against his lips, rocking her hips forward. He’s dreamed of moments like this, of her rolling her folds over his length, and he’s not ashamed when it draws a guttural moan from his lips because he has been waiting a lifetime for her. For this. For a woman who not only understands him, but accepts him, completes him, knows him inside and out, and what more does he need?

More of her, it turns out.

He presses his hardening groin against hers slit, hearing that needy whimper that he’s heard before and it makes him crave the feel of her around him.

He wants to take his time, wants to explore her first with his fingers, then with his tongue. He wants to chase the parts of her body that make her tingle, that make her cry out, that make her grab him and beg him for more. He wants to slide into her slowly like he did the first time, lingering on what it meant to be inside her at last, and how it had felt like coming home as her core rippled around him, accepting him just as eagerly as her heart had.

That all goes to hell when she pulls her lips away from his to press them against his jaw, down to his exposed throat, and then he’s hoisting her just enough for him to sink into her.

She gasps at the sudden intrusion on her body, and he brings her lips back to his while she adjusts to him. He knots his tongue around hers whilst the tension leaves her muscles, and soon she’s writhing, tightening her legs around his waist as she silently begs him to move, but he wants to wait, wants to savour this feeling of being buried to the hilt inside the love of his life.

But she whispers his name and like all other plans, it goes to hell.

He pulls back and thrusts in again, deeper, because he is still lost and the key to Oliver Queen is hidden within her. Instead, as he claims her with maddeningly slow trusts, all he finds is more of her, the parts of her that he’s wanted to know for years, and there, beneath her, is himself, the man he wants to be. He’s there encased in her trembling thighs, the ones that tighten around him when her cries echo through the bathroom. He’s there within the muscles that grip his length and convulse around him. He’s there between her breasts, against her stomach, plastered to her lips.

They are one another’s now, there is no in between, there is no alternative.

When everything fades to a white-hot pleasure, he braces his arm on the wall to keep from dropping her, and everything switches back to lazy - lazy touches, lazy kisses, lazy sighs - and this is the man he has chosen to be with the woman he has chosen to love.

Everything else can go to hell.


	12. Game On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said:
> 
> GEEZ!!! I’ll buy you a whip if that avoid having you getting in trouble like that !! Any questions ?? Your mind is a dangerous place! I like it !! OK! Here goes: Olicity getting drunk or using drugs for fun … Could Them make sex in public or semi public? Go!!

He’s giggling against her throat.

Oliver Queen is goddamn giggling.

“Shhh,” she half-laughs as he runs his hand up her thigh. “People will hear us.”

“Oh, people are gonna hear us,” he teases, hitching his hand up in a way that makes her gasp because really, this is not the place to do this, and really, neither of them could care less.

it’s Vegas, and no one’s paying attention to the couple in the corner where the fruit machines are broken, which is real handy because that’s where Oliver chose to tug her away from the crowd and press her against the fraction of wall between two of the machines and suddenly her heels are on the floor and her legs are up around his waist.

Drunk Oliver is insatiable. He’s not beyond control, but he’s certainly losing it, judging by the way he’s getting hard against her and there’s an old lady loudly complaining about quarters just four feet away from them in the next row. Later he’ll blame it on the way her dress clings to her, and the way it inches up her thighs when she walks up the stairs and he just happens to be behind her, but now he’s too busy trying to find the underwear he’s just realise she’s not wearing.

“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” he growls as his lips travel down to her neck, and she tilts her head back just enough that he can suckle on the spot he loves just above her collarbone.

“Can’t kill you, I’m not done with you yet,” she replies, trying to sound in control but he’s teasing his fingers between her thighs now, and it’s nice, but it’s not enough to get some friction. “Oliver…”

“You said no,” he reminds her, his voice taunting as he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses across her collarbone. “You said people will hear.”

“Maybe I’ll be quiet,” she says, biting on her lip, and his head whips up to reveal his dark, challenging eyes.

“Not if I have anything to do with it.”

He lunges forward, tugging her lip from her teeth with a kiss so passionate it definitely doesn’t belong this side of the bed sheets. His fingers shift away and she mewls into the kiss, protesting with a rock of her hips but he steps flush against her, pushing his groin against hers and she can feel the delicious torment of his erection pressing into her. Even in Vegas, they won’t make it to their hotel room unnoticed.

Playful Oliver won’t be denied. She doesn’t see him often enough. She certainly doesn’t see him after tequila, and she’s starting to love Tequila Oliver almost as much as she loved Sambuca Oliver in the alley outside the club last month.

But this is far less private.

She’s had enough vodka not to care.

She pulls away from his kiss to drag her lips up to his ear. “I’m going to be on my best behaviour, as quiet as possible,” she teases, one hand raking fingernails down the back of his neck in a way that makes him actively purr into her throat. “And you’re going to change that.”

It’s not a challenge. She knows he will.

“Make the old lady hear and drop her quarters, and we’ll get that zipper down and take care of your problem down there…” she teases, rolling her hips against him as his fingertips dig into her thighs.

But she’s not done.

“Make one of the guys at the blackjack table hear me, and I’ll let you take me right here.”

His groan vibrates against her pulse.

She’s still not done.

Her tongue reaches out to the curve of his ear and he’s putty in her hands.

“Make the security guard notice, and we can go back to the room and do that thing you really like,” she teases.

Game on.

–

“Felicity Megan Smoak, I cannot believe I had to come all the way down here and bail you out of jail. _You_! Of all people! My daughter! Having sex in a casino with an ex-billionaire _at three in the afternoon_!!!!! You are lucky that the owner of that casino owes me a favour or you’d be banned from another casino, and not for card counting for once! Honestly, I don’t know whether to be ashamed of you or proud of you right now.”

“Mom, please, people are staring.”

“ _That was exactly the problem in the first place, Felicity_.”


	13. Afterglow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little thing that @emilybuttrickards has been craving

“Exactly,” he murmurs, leaning close to her. “It’s just flirting.”

When his lips touch hers, he knows he’s deferred her attention from work once again, which is just how he likes it. He’s understanding of her conference calls and video calls through to Palmer Tech, no matter how much the new company name tastes bitter on his tongue, but he much prefers when he has her attention all to himself and all it takes it a simple press of his lips to hers.

He can do this now. He can drag his lips across hers, touch his tongue to hers, brush the top of his nose to hers, slid his arm around her waist and pull her across the bed sheets until she’s flush against him.

As always when he touches her, his body comes alive when her skin brushes against him. He’s spent years imagining so many realities in which they came together like this, but he never imagined what it would be like to have her bare stomach pressed against his, the strangely amusing way their knees would knock together as they tangle their legs, the way his fingertip fits perfectly in the groove at the base of her spine. It fills him with a rush he’s never experienced outside of her embrace, and when she responds, arching into his touch, he knows she’s far away from thoughts of video conferences.

“My Felicity,” he whispers, when he manages to pull his lips from hers, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her jaw suggestively.

She hums, leaning into his touch without opening her eyes. She’s still pliant and lazy from the two orgasms that came from their retreat back to bed after his morning run, when breakfast was ruined but her smile wasn’t, and it’s his favourite side of her. He knows he’s one of a lucky few that has witnessed this beautiful display of afterglow personified, and he knows that he isn’t going to share that with anyone. This is his sight now. This is what his mornings are made of.

He’s going to propose to her later. Tonight. Definitely tonight.

He doesn’t realise his hand has traveled down her shoulder until she’s gasping his name, and he skates his fingertips across the underside of her breast. All thoughts of the proposal fade away when she arches, brushing her stomach against the hardness that twitches back to life against her. It draws a sign from him that ends with a gravelly exhale, his hand continuing its path down until he reaches the roundness of her cheeks, tugging her and kneading at the flesh in a bid to gain friction where he craves it most.

Felicity rolls her hips against him, then tilts her head back against the pillow, escaping his lips as he seeks hers again. “I have to….the call…” she argues weakly.

Oliver doesn’t care. “It can wait.”

“Oliver,” she whispers breathlessly, as he places just the slightest pressure to her shoulder and rolls her onto her back.

“Yes?” he challenges her, ducking his hand between her legs to where she’s still sensitive enough that it pulls a gasp from her.

Her eyes slam shut again, and she presses into his hand, splaying her legs in invitation for him to do whatever he wishes. It’s all the encouragement he needs, and his lips return, kissing a line up her jaw and down her throat.

She whimpers, because she knows what’s coming. He has a very specific way with his kisses, the way his parted lips will leave wet kisses on her pulse, dragging the swollen buds across her skin and she knows he’s going to go down on her. She loves it. As much as she hates delaying gratification with him, because an Oliver Queen Orgasm is certainly bucket-list-worthy, even the anticipation is making her wet against his fingers as he teases her.

He moves slowly, kissing and sucking his way down her body and pausing at all his favourite parts - the hollow of her throat that vibrates when she starts to babble nonsensically, the dip between her breasts that her nails would rake over when she was nervous, the small birthmark to the left of her navel that’s shaped like a maple leaf. She rewards him with a groan each time his mouth finds her sensitive flesh, because five months with this woman has taught him every single inch of her body, and he knows how to make her writhe beneath him.

She makes a choked sound of longing when he dips his tonuge into her navel, so he did it again until he was dangerously close to her mound and her hand reached down to bury in his hair, gripping the strands that have grown back into something she recognises more and trying to direct him where she wanted him.

He settles between her thighs after teasingly dancing his tongue across her hipbones, and he succumbs to the scent of her, drawing him in a mixture of her arousal and the sweat from their earlier round that’s still evidenced on her thighs. She’s still slick with her own moisture and his, and he raises his dark eyes to hers for a moment, taking in the sight of Felicity Smoak in her heated form, naked with her legs spread wide, waiting for him to put his mouth on her.

“Oliver,” she murmurs, watching him with impatience now as he soaks in the sight of her but he doesn’t wait any longer, digging his fingertips into her hips and dragging her closer to him, glad for her continued nakedness so there was nothing in his way when he placed his mouth against her and lapped his tongue against her slit, getting a thorough taste of her. Her head rolled back, arching her further against him and he loves the way she moves on his tongue.

He’s painfully hard again, reacting to the way she held him against her core purely by the grip in his hair, and as he sweeps his tongue back and forth over her clit, he rocks his hips into the mattress beneath him, just enough to relieve the building pressure.

Months ago, cramped up in a tiny motel room they’d gotten at the last minute, she’d told him how no man had ever done this for her before, now she’d never been touched by a man’s mouth between her legs, and it had been primal for him to know that he was the only one who had worshipped her body to its full extent.

He sucks on her clit at first, drawing her into his mouth, then circling around her swollen bud. She sighs deeply, and he feels her start to relax from the way her thighs had tensed in longing when he first touched her, her muscles loosening below him. He continues the steady pressure, swirling his tongue over and down, then nudges at her opening. She hitches her legs over his shoulders and massages his scalp as he works, and he could sense the moment that she changes, the moment that she stops allowing him to pleasure her and starts to seek from him instead.

He circles her clit with his lips, just as desperate to please her as she is to feel him, and then because he can never resist when it came to touching her, he slides a finger into her, searching for the spongy spot within her that always made her lose control.

“More,” she begs, tightening her hand in his hair while her thighs pressed into the sides of his face. He loves being cradled between her quaking thighs, the same thighs he used to admire from afar in her tight pencil skirts, and he’s never felt more at home as he does here, his face between her legs and working her towards an orgasm that’ll make her speechless. When she begs, he presses another finger into her, then a third, stretching her and pressing against the spot that brings her to her breaking point. The second he brushes against it, her thighs pulse against him, and he attacks her with the pleasure knows he can bring to her.

He pumps his fingers, covered in her wetness and her scent as he laps at her, the stubble on his chin only accentuating the arousal that threatens to overwhelm her now. He can tell her warning signs by now, knows how close she is to the edge, and he increases the speed of his fingers, sucking her harder and pulling at her clit until he’s gently scraping his teeth against the sensitive flesh. When she comes, it’s sudden and intense. He switches his mouth and his hand, so that he can thrust his tongue into her and truly devour her while his thumb presses down hard on her clit and she’s crying out, tightening her hand painfully in his hair in a way similar to how her walls clench around his fingers. Her body bucks beneath him, and he keeps his mouth on her as she comes down from the high.

When she twitches in protest beneath him, he slowly draws his tongue away from her, trailing back up her body with lazier kisses from lips soaked with her essence. Her ragged breathing slowly evened out as she ran her fingers through his ruffled hair. If he leans into her touch like a kitten, she doesn’t say anything.

“You’re obscenely good at that,” she mumbles through heavy lidded eyes. There’s only one thing more beautiful than an aroused Felicity, and that’s a sated Felicity.

“I know,” he grins smugly, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “You need to take that conference call,” he reminds her.

“But you…” she protests, reaching her down to where his hard length is pressing into her thigh.

He catches her hand, drawing it up to place a kiss in the centre of her palm. “No time,” he says regretfully. “You go do your call, we can take care of this later.”

“Why wait until later?” she asks curiously. “I’m only going to be thirty minutes on the call…”

“I have plans,” he tells her with a smile,  bringing his lips down to hers again at last. “Tonight, I’m cooking you dinner. A nice one, with fancy desserts.”

Her face lit up with elation. “You’re making fancy desserts?”

“Felicity Smoak, love of my life, devourer of my baked goods,” he teased, if only to feel her laughter rock her body beneath him. “I’m going to make you the best damn soufflé of your life.”


	14. Tried Exercise, Send Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said: ok so i like REALLY NEED TO SEE FELICITY ATTEMPTING THE SALMON LADDER

“Felicity?”

“It’s not what it looks like.”

The words tumble out of her mouth as he walks towards her. There’s amusement and curiosity gracing his face as he approaches, hands flickering at his side for purchase as he stops a few feet from where she’s swaying in the air.

“What does it look like?” he teases lightly.

“I…tripped,” she mutters.

“You tripped,” he repeats, as he takes another step forward. “And you landed on the salmon ladder?”

She tilts her head back, looking at her hands gripping the bar which still sat at the lowest rung. Her eyes squinted as she returns her gaze to his. “….Yes?”

He chuckles, that kind of hearty laugh that resonates deep in his chest, the kind that she loves, and he steps right up close to her, his open palms skating up her thighs. “You’re stuck, aren’t you?” he states.

“Little bit,” she admits, and he laughs again. “Help a girl out?”

“Oh, trust me,” he muses, sliding his hands behind her thighs and hooking them up over his shoulders. The look in his eyes darkens as his gaze drops from her face, to the sight that her open skirt now reveals to him, and then back up. “I would love to help you out right now.”

“Not when anyone could walk in,” she says half-heartedly, as he starts to trail kisses up from her knee.

“Locked the door,” he mutters against the inside of her thigh.

“Why?” she asks, breaking off with a small mewl and twisting her hips when she felt his teeth brush against the ticklish spot halfway up her thigh.

“Because you’re right,” he says darkly, trailing higher…higher… “Something about the salmon ladder is…” he stops, pressing his face between her thighs and inhaling deeply. “…turning you on.”

Her head falls back with a whimper, because he’s right there and she wants more, and he locked the door, and she’ll be lying if she says this isn’t something she thought about in the shower once…twice…every day for a week. “Oliver…” she whispers, her legs tightening around his head.

He releases his breath, the heat doing wicked things to her libido. The only downside is that it’s making her palms sweaty, and her grip loosens enough that her arm slip from the bar. Luckily, he has a firm grip on her, and all that happens by her fall is that she ends up slumped forward, gripping his head into place between her legs so her upper body can use it for balance. His response is a growl, and he walks backwards with her in that position until she feels the wall against her back.

Pillars. Of course. New lair has pillars. Pillars like the ones in their loft that he open pushes her against. Pillars like the ones he fucks her against.

But never like this.

He mouths at her over her underwear until she’s writhing against his face. She’s almost there, but not quite, and all it would take would be to feel him against her without any barriers, but then he pulls away and sets her on her shaky legs, pressing his entire body the length of hers.

“We need to go home,” Oliver pants against her lips, tugging her lips closer to him so she can feel the evidence of his arousal pressing into her stomach. “This is not going to be platonic or professional.”

“No,” she protests, as her hands slip down his back and under his shirt, lifting it over his head. When he pulls back to allow her to remove it, he gives her a questioning look. “You locked the door, right?” she checks once more. He nods. “Then here. I can’t wait.”

“Here,” he agrees, sneaking his hand up her thigh again and expertly tearing through the flimsy underwear she’s wearing underneath, wasting no time in slipping his fingers into her.

“I love that damn salmon ladder,” she replies breathlessly.

“Why do you think I kept it?”


	15. Crop Tops & Tight Skirts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tread-the-stars said: Ok so sometime between s2 and s3 Felicity started wearing crop top + tight skirt combos. It’s practically all she wore during s3. So prompt: Oliver’s reaction to her showing more skin around him? And maybe finally being able to take advantage of her wearing those crop tops when they’re finally together.
> 
> dammmithardison said: If you’re still accepting prompts, I’m kinda dying for some Olicity sex when they go home after tonight’s ep because Oliver was probably turned on by basically everything Felicity does in this ep.

Watching Felicity work had always been a source of fascination for Oliver, ever since the beginning, but the evolution of her posture around him was even more captivating.

He’d found her attractive from the first day he saw her, drawn to those red lips parted with the pen between them - of course he’d thought about her every spare moment until he’d seen her again. He wanted more. He’d imagined that she’d be shy in bed, that she’d be hesitant in her touches, that she’d gasp when he would touch her. That gasp haunted his dreams, especially when she’d unintentionally made it one day in the foundry. He’d imagined taking those workshirts and unbuttoning them painfully slowly, chasing a blush that spread from her cheeks to her stomach, and he’d imagined whispering the kind of thoughts that would deepen it.

But then she’d stormed into his office and shouted at him when he’d promoted her, and all thoughts about her hesitance had disappeared, replaced with vivid images of angry, punishing sex. And he’d wanted that more. He’d pictured how it would feel to push her against a wall and have her push back. He’d seen her watching him on the salmon ladder so openly and wonder what it would be like to see patches of sweat from his chest soaking the dress. Oh, those dressed. He’d imagined walking up behind her at the computers and pushing up the skirt of them, wondering whether she’d push back into him or arch her back when he plunged into her.

But then he’d taken her to dinner, and all he could think about was how their lovemaking would be punctuated by smiles and laughter, how she would sigh his name when he entered her, how she would pull him closer when he came, and how utterly, completely life-affirming it would be. He’d imagined a kiss goodnight leading straight to sex on the couch, imagined the kind of ear-splitting grins that made them break kisses.

And to make matters worse, her attire seemed to encourage him. The workshirts became dresses, the dresses became shorter skirts, and worst/best part was that her shirts actually seemed to be shrinking. Crop tops, he remembered from the nineties - the dominant attire of school discos and the early club scene. She loved them. She seemed to have many of them in eye-catching patterns and colours, and every single one of them displayed just enough of her midriff that he wanted to spend his entire life on his knees before her with his lips plastered over her navel.

And now they were together, and she was his. Now he knew what her skin tasted like and how she sounded when she came and how scorching it was to be inside her heat. He knew exactly which spot of her neck would make her pulse race when he kissed it, and he knew exactly what it felt like to be completely owned by Felicity Smoak and he loved it.

But then they came back to Star City.

And so did the crop tops.

So when he walked into the new lair and saw her alone, hands on the table as she fixed at one of the hard drives, crop top slipping even higher up the back, he locked the door and decided his own hard drive could do with some tinkering.

By the time he had moved to where she was, he was throbbing for her, and it delighted him far too much when he pressed against the curve of her backside and she gasped. That gasp would be his undoing, as would be the memory of the night he’d confessed his fantasy about her red lipstick and she’d layered on another coat before she took him in her mouth.

“Oliver, we can’t…” she protested weakly.

He pushed further into her, his length twitching against her and he knew from the tightness of her skirt that she could feel every inch of it. “I need you,” he told her huskily, as his hand roamed up, the crop top giving him easy access to her creamy skin.

“Oliver…” she sighed again, this time more longing than distracted. She pushed up from the table, and he used the movement to place hot, heavy kisses along the side of her throat, sucking on her pulse in a way that makes her moan his name out and push back into him.

“That’s my girl,” he groaned, bending her forward again while his hand dipped to raise her skirt up around her hips. It takes him seconds to bare her enough that he can press his fingers into her, and his arousal surges when he feels her pulse jolt against his lips when he curls them within her.

He’d always dreamed of taking her where they worked, making her his on the same surface she protects him from at night. Here, she is in her element. Here, she is in control. Yet she concedes her control to him so easily because he knew all the ways to make her shudder, shake and scream.

As soon as he was sure she was ready, he pulled his fingers out of her alongside her cry of protest, and unzipped the pants he was straining against. The relief of just getting his fly open was almost blinding, but sheathing his length inside her was something else entirely. It was like coming home after a long day, like getting into a hot bath on a cold night, like waking up hangover-free after the best night of his life.

Like pushing into the last woman he’d ever make love to.

He moved without control, plunging into her again and again while she tried to keep up with his pace, but mostly she was willing and writhing in her pleasure. There was nothing beautiful than the sight of his woman approaching her orgasm, the way her body begged for it through her bitten lip and furrowed brow. Another fantasy presented itself far too readily, the swinging of her ponytail hypnotising him in time with his thrusts, and he released her skirt to grab hold it, pulling her back back so he could ravish it again.

She keened out his name, tightening around him, and it only took two more harsh thrusts and a bite to her shoulder to make her explode around him. Her body clenched around him, drawing ragged gasps from his throat until he was joining her over the precipice, spending himself inside her as he rocked them through the orgasms.

When they collapsed sated against the desk top, his arousal turned to adoration, his hands stroking lazily over her skin. “What inspired that?” Felicity asked, breathless still as she turned her head enough to kiss him, moving her hips when he lowered her skirt back into place before he tucked himself back into his pants.

His fingers touched to the hem of her shirt, brushing over her stomach in the process. “Little bit of everything.”


	16. Worth the Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tread-the-stars said: I just discovered this song today called so. good. by Johnny Stimson and I was like wow i can see yespleasehawkeye writing a sexy Olicity fanfic about this lol
> 
> Anonymous said: Prompt: what if felicity is a virgin up until she and oliver finally get together. And they’re on their roadtrip at some motel or hotel whatever and she’s super nervous when she breaks it to him. (Act like nanda parbat didnt happen.)

It started when they’re an hour away from the hotel they’d booked into for the first night of their trip. It started when they pulled over at a gas station to use the bathroom and when she got back to the car one kiss had lead to her sitting in his lap for their fifth random make-out session of the trip. It started when his hand not at all innocently slipped under her skirt and palmed at her thigh and her head fell back.

“Oliver,” she moaned out, her body craving more even as her heart started to pound in ways she wasn’t entirely sure were good.

“Felicity,” he groaned back, as his lips fell to her bared through, placing hot kisses along her racing pulse. “God, if you knew how long…” he half-whined against her skin, shifting so she could feel exactly how long he meant with the evidence pressed up between her thighs.

She gasped and found herself pushing into him briefly before she was squirming back. “Oliver, we can’t-”

“I know,” he huffed, surrendering as his head fell to the headrest with a smile that was both adoring and sexually charged. “Our first time won’t be in a car, don’t worry,” he teased. She bit at her lip, looking away briefly. Before she can even put words together his head rises, his hand slipping from her thigh up to her waist where it lingered to hold her in his lap. “I didn’t mean we have to-”

“It’s not that, I want to,” she assured him quickly, screwing up her eyes. “Of course, I want to. Who wouldn’t want to, I mean, look at you, you’re just a specimin of perfection. I’d probably be sectioned if I turned you down, I mean…not at all the point,” she shut herself up, steading herself with a breath before she spoke again. “It’s not just…our first time,” she said awkwardly. “It’d be mine too.”

“Of course,” he acknowledged, one of his fingertips brushing the hair back behind her ear.

“No, I mean…my first time…ever,” she stressed.

She watched the words hit him, saw the way he swallowed and his eyes darkened and she wanted to die of embarrassment. “You’re a…” he choked out, but she cut him off swiftly.

“It’s not a big deal,” she rushed. “I worked hard to graduate high school and college early, so it’s not like I had any boyfriends. And all Cooper ever wanted to do was write code and hack, and then there wasn’t really anyone else because I didn’t have a whole lot of friends when I moved here, and definitely no time for dating with all we did. And there was absolutely nothing there with Barry, ever, and I know you think Ray and I..but we just kissed before he threw the dead wife card out and ruined the mood, and I just..it wasn’t on purpose, this isn’t some spiritual thing, I just…never had time.”

“Felicity…” he breathed out, and she can hear the shudder betraying his control.

“It’s not a big deal,” she repeated, her head lowered.

He kissed her chin until she raised her head, then his lips found hers. This time his kiss was soft and searching, though not at all hesitant, and she sank back against him. “Do you want this?” he asked her, when they parted to breathe.

“You know I do,” she muttered, her hand stroking over his arm.

“You know what I mean,” he insisted. “We don’t have to rush into this.”

At that, she laughed, her forehead falling down onto his. “It’s been three years, Oliver. I don’t think we’re rushing anything.”

–

The next forty minutes of their drive was in silence. They spoke only enough to clarify that they would get back to the hotel, take a bath, relax, and let things unfold from there. Felicity sat in her seat, her fingers constantly tapping in both impatience and nerves against the armrest, but Oliver…Oliver was pure energy.

He moved constantly, whether it was the brush of his tongue against his lips, the stroke of his hand against her knee, or the flicker of his eyes towards her. Even his breathing pattern had changed, and she could see how hard he was thinking. She had seen this look on his face in Nanda Parbat, where they’d first kissed (and kissed for hours until they were interrupted) and she knew that look. He was planning. He was scheming. He was going over all the ways he could make this night wonderful for her, and just like that, her nerves disappeared.

–

When they got to the hotel, their plan fell apart. The room wasn’t ready yet, so they ended up sat in the hotel bar sharing a bowl of fries while Oliver chose to quietly quiz her over exactly what she  had and hadn’t done with a guy. She watched his eyes darken in possession when he realised that the furthest she’d ever gone was their questionally innocent gropes a few months ago. The hand that was on her knee tightened, before he caught sight of it and sucked in a breath.

“Sorry,” he smiled somewhat nervously. “I just…”

“Don’t put any pressure on yourself,” she told him with a small wave on her hand as she turned to her drink. “Really. You don’t have to worry about me, Oliver, I’m not some scared teenager. I’m sure whatever happens will be good for me,” she assured him.

His hand slid a little higher, and her eyes fell back to his, watching his gaze turn heavy again. “Oh, it’ll be more than good for you.”

But once they got into the room, all plans for a bath fell away when all they had was a small shower unit that would barely fit one person in, let alone two. So she let him shower first and tried not to salivate at the far too intimate sight of Oliver walking around their hotel room in just his towel, scraping his hand through his far-too-short hair.

When she came out of the shower, she had to smile.

He’d exchanged the towel for a pair of boxers, completely dry but still entirely radiant in his bare form, and the room is bathed in the glow of just the bedside lamps, the main light shut off. He’d aimed for romance, she realised, and he couldn’t get any closer to candles than the dim lights. He stood looking at the bed, hands flickering for something to do, and she realised he was questionably more nervous than she was.

Not because it was her first time, but because he’d been waiting for his first time with her for so long now.

“I dreamed about this night while I was gone,” he confessed into the quiet, staring at the bed instead of at her as she approached him in just her towel. “I dreamed about everything I wanted to say you, every way I could make you feel as loved as you’ve made me feel.”

Her hand brushed against his and he shuddered visibly. “Then show me,” she whispered.

He kissed her before she even had time to draw breath, searching her lips with his as he had done each time they’d kissed. His kisses were so distracting that she didn’t realise he was moving her until she felt the softness of the duvet against her shoulders, pressing into the slightly damp towel with a moan against his kiss. So distracting that she didn’t even miss his kiss when he moved his lips to her throat. So distracting, even, that she didn’t realise the towel was being pulled away until his cool breath was scaling the gap between her bare breasts, and god she wanted him. She wanted him like she’d never wanted anything before in her life, and when she bucked her hips up against him, he chuckled into her skin.

“Patience,” he teased, nuzzling his stubble over her pebbled nipple to make her squirm a little more. “Let me take care of you,” he murmured, before he drew the same nipple between his teeth and she arched up into his touch.

“Oh my god,” she gasped, writhing for the friction he wasn’t granting her between her thighs, pressure that had never been released except for by her own hand, and suddenly the possibility of feeling more, feeling everything, was all she could think about.

“Relax,” he damn purred against her skin as he trailed his kisses further down her body, pausing when her breath hitched as he dipped his tongue into her navel. “You trust me, right?”

That was a loaded question, especially given everything that had happened in the last few months, the lies and betrayal that had been exposed in the last twenty four hours alone, but the only answer she has for him went back to the meeting in the coffee place three years ago. “I trust you,” she whispered, the words falling from her lips just as easily as his lips fall down between her parted legs and his tongue started doing delicious things.

It was so intense she could hardly breathe. She had no doubt that Oliver was a skilled lover, certainly none that he was a generous one, but she had doubted how good this would actually feel. She always thought oral was overrated, that it couldn’t possibly be as good as people built it up to be, but the warmth of his tongue sliding through her slick folds was explosive. Her hands flew down to find purchase wherever she could, one gripping the sheet as as the other settled on the back of his head.

“Oliver!” she cried out, her hips writhing beneath the sensations she couldn’t comprehend. It was pleasure, but never as she had experienced it by her own hand.

He pulled away for a moment, and she moaned in protest, but he only moved as far as her hipbone, pressing his lips there as if he were steadying himself. When his eyes flickered to hers, he inhaled deeply, and his voice was ragged when he spoke. “Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of this?” he asked her, moving his lips down again. “Of how you smell…how you taste…” He licked the length of her slit, ending the action with a flick of her clit that had her arching upright until his hand on her stomach pushed her back to the bed. One finger slid into her, stretching her, and she gasped as her body tightened, a coil of pleasure winding in her stomach. “God, you’re perfect,” he sighed against her, every word vibrating through her folds until she was a whimpering mess beneath him, begging for her release.

The moment her choked ‘please’ left her lips, a second finger entered her, curling upwards as her spine curved along with him. His fingers were so much larger than her own that for a moment she hesitated on the thought of what it would be like to have him fully inside her, the stretch of him within her, but then his fingers brushed that sweet spot within her and she was too blinded by the orgasm that hit her to care about anything other than this.

He stroked her through it, his fingers easing in and out in a slow rhythm that contrasted the force that her body contracted around his fingers. The movement stretched her, and his fingers were no longer an intrusion but a necessity. Her body was humming from her orgasm, her attention dazed as he came up to her level with a slow withdrawal of his fingers that her gasping at the over-sensitivity before he settled his bare body over hers.

Her hands shifted to the curve of muscle at his hips, taking her time to explore each dip and curve of his form as his lips came back to hers. She could taste herself on his lips and the idea thrilled her far more than she ever imagined it might. when he pressed against her she could feel his arousal pressing into her thigh, and rather than hesitating she found herself throbbing with need again already. She thought she’d been prepared for this moment, but she hadn’t prepared herself for the emotion that came from having Oliver Queen above her.

But then he was moving away, and she gripped him a little tighter. “Where are you going?” she asked him.

“Condom,” he muttered, his hand stroking over her stomach as he untangled himself from her. “In my bag, I-”

“No,” she whispered, and the room fell into a stillness.

“No?” he repeated.

“I’m on the pill,” she explained. “For…lady reasons. I don’t…I mean, if you want to…”

There would be no going back after this, she realised. Her mind was only just comprehending what she’d said, but it was something that had been on her mind since they’d started driving. She didn’t want anything between them. She hadn’t been oblivious to Oliver’s unspoken chastity the last several months, and yes, she’d seen enough of his medical history (not that she’d tell him that) to know that he wasn’t carrying anything sexually transmittable. She certainly wasn’t.

But to give herself to him so entirely was a huge step, maybe more so than giving him this sacred, untouched part of herself in the first place, though his expression wasn’t making her regret it.

He swallowed thickly, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips as he kept his eyes firmly on her. “I’ve never…done that with anyone,” he admitted into the silence that had settled in the room.

She caught her lip between her teeth. “If you don’t want to-”

“No, I want to,” he rushed the words out, settling his body back over hers, his lower half falling between her thighs when she opened them for him. He balanced on his elbows, his hands coming up to push her hair back against the pillow. She wasn’t sure when he’d lost his underwear, but she could feel him hot and heavy against her now, so close to her entrance that she sucked in a breath.

“Oliver,” she whispered, squirming with a mixture of delight and nerves when she felt his tip brush against her opening.

“Breathe,” he murmured back, sliding one hand beneath her back in an embrace as the other dipped beneath her legs to tease her again. She moaned lightly when his fingers dipped into her, reigniting the flames of pleasure in her stomach. This time he moved with her, so desperate for a relief from the ache in his groin that he ground his hips against her thigh.

God, he was big. She knew he was big, of course, but the feel of his size was filling her with excitement as well as panic. What if he didn’t fit? Well, she knew that was a stupid thought, because of course he would fit, but what if he was too big for comfort and this entire night was ruined and–

“Felicity,” he whispered, his lips ghosting over hers as his fingers curled within her, his thumb rolling over her clit. “Just relax, I’ve got you…”

“Relaxing,” she muttered, trying to convince herself to sink into the sensations he was surrounding her with and not think about the scientific impossibilities of sex with Oliver Queen.

“You’re okay,” he assured her, whispering his words against her lips.

And then the pressure was changing. Just when she was building up to what promised to be a glorious second orgasm, he drew his fingers back and she felt him shift between her thighs. Her eyes opened to meet his, but all she could see was the blue of his eyes in the dim light, entirely focused on her as she felt the blunt head of him pressing slowly into her.

She winced at the intrusion, sucking in a breath from the shock. It was unlike anything she’d felt before, the feeling of him sinking into her a little more with each rock of his hips. “You’re okay,” he whispered each time her breath hitched, and when he was fully seated with her and her back was arching with the rush of both pleasure and pain, he drew his lips back to hers.

His hips were still as he kissed her, his tongue knotting around hers as he shuddered, drawing her as close to him as possible. She wanted to touch him, wanted to do more than fuse her lips to his and clench her hands into his shoulders, but there was nothing in her mind except for how truly connected she felt to him in that moment. If this was what it was like to love and be loved in return, then the movies had gotten it right - this was an all-consuming, passionate, loving, eternal rush that she’d never felt before.

But then again, she’d never been so wholly in love with Oliver Queen before.

He kissed her until the pinch of pain within her eased into a dull ache, and then to a pressure that was far more arousing than it was uncomfortable. Her body was adjusting to him within her just as her heart had, and when her hips moved a little he pulled back, inching out of her before sinking back in again, slowly filling her again with a little more purpose, a little more comfort, and a purred breath of her name on his lips.

They moved in a languid manner, as slow and delicate as their advancement from friends to lovers had been. Three years had built up to this moment and they had no reason to rush now. Once the rock of his body into hers felt more natural, her hands started to roam, lingering over his back, his shoulders, trailing up his arms and breaking her lips away to touch them to each scar and blemish on his skin she should reach.

When she felt her orgasm building again, she started to shift her hips faster, encouraging him to increase his pace. He did so without question, their quickened breaths panting in time as everything narrowed doing to the burning longing in their groins, and when she came with a shout he was right there with her. The ripple of her body around his was far more satisfying when she had something to clench around, and she could feel him pulsing within her, feeling his warmth spreading as he reached his peak as well.

It was like floating outside her body, so lost in the haze of her pleasure that she didn’t feel anything outside the warmth until she felt a hiss of breath against her lips and Oliver shifting his softened length out of her. A coldness set in when he moved off her, but he returned only moments later with a warm cloth that he used to clean them both. It was intimate, she realised, as she watched him maneuver the cloth between her thighs, where he’d been buried within her.

He put the cloth aside, laying out on his side next to her as he lazily stroked her stomach. She smiled up at him, exhaustion tugging at her but not almost as strong as the need to bring her hand up to his cheek. There was a smile there she’d not seen him wear before. “I like this smile,” she decided.

“I’m happy,” he told her again, something he’d been repeating since they got in the car.

“Me too,” she agreed, and his face became even more elated.

“So, Felicity Smoak…” he mused. “Did your first time live up to your expectations?”

“I think my expectations went out the window when you did that thing with your tongue,” she said, causing him to chuckle. “I mean it, that’s some real magic you can do.” He said nothing, just watching her with that dream-like expression she supposed he’d always watched her with, but now it was inherently stronger. “You enjoyed it too, right?” she checked.

“Felicity,” he whispered, tugging her into his arms with one movement, their sated bodies pressed together as he hooked her leg over his hip. “I have spent so long waiting to have this moment with you. Not just the sex but…to be able to love you, all of you…” he shook his head, pressing his lips to hers. “I love you so much, Felicity. And this…you…” he kissed her shoulder, then her pulse, then the very tip of her nose. “…it was worth waiting for you. You’re worth everything.”

“Aren’t you supposed to stop charming the girl once you get her in bed,” she joked lightly, as her arm settled around him and traced circles into the scar on his lower back.

“Hey, I can withhold that magic tongue trick, you know,” he threatened playfully.

“No,” she whined.

And then they were laughing, and kissing, and Felicity had never laughed and kissed at the same time but she had never done a lot of things before Oliver Queen.

And all of them had been worth waiting for.


	17. Protocol [FBI AU]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> captainsummerday said: PROMPT: Former Frat boy, Oliver Queen ends up partnered with Cyber Skills expert, Felicity Smoak on their first day of FBI training. He spends the next year (or other appropriate passage of time) trying to undo his bad first impression. They may or may not be working on a case at the time. ;)

Oliver never planned to admit it, but he was always anxious to part ways with Felicity when they worked. Of course, in a professional manner it was completely acceptable, but his protective instinct towards her had far surpassed anything that could be classed as co-worker friendly. It was a dangerous business they worked in, especially getting into undercover work like they were in their current case, but it was what they were paid to do and he couldn’t exactly pull his partner out of the field when he had no authority to do so and she was damn good at her job.

Of course she was. Felicity Smoak was damn good at everything. She’d started off as his technical support in the field, partnered together in their first days out of the job after they’d excelled together in their training, but it had developed into more and now they were heading the more complicated operations and falling into undercover work had been another aspect they excelled at.

But she’d been gone for several hours now, and he was just starting to feel the need to check in on her - odd, because he was normally professional enough to wait for Felicity’s signal - when the buzz of his phone interrupted his thoughts and he slid the app open to see what the message said.

_Exodus._

He didn’t even type out a reply, he just started up the engine and double checked the GPS had the right co-ordinates for her extraction. Felicity knew the area well enough because she’d checked it out  multiple times during their mission, but Oliver had only been following second hand instructions earlier when he dropped her off as close as they could risk getting. He let the navigation system guide him, but turned off the sound because he wasn’t so lost in these back streets that he needed the system barking commands in his ear.

As he drove, his fingers drummed on the steering wheel, still somewhat anxious. Felicity had made contact, yes, but he still wanted to see for himself that everything had gone well. If she wasn’t, she’d have used another code. But she used Exodus, which was a willing extraction code.

It wasn’t always this way.

In the start, they hated each other. He’d made one too many lewd attempts at getting her into bed and she hadn’t liked it. He’d spent the last six years trying to make up for that failed first impression - which was hard when she rejected flowers, never wanted to go to dinner with him, and absolutely never wanted to be romanced - at least not by him. But she was happy enough to eat Big Belly Burger with them in the car and during the night shifts in the office, so he’d played the long game, drawing her in closer so that one day he could make a real move on her without pushing her away for good.

He parked just outside a residential area when he saw her walking towards his car, at least half a mile from the agreed extraction point. He shut off the engine and got out, careful to look generally unphased beneath his concern. “What are you doing here?” he asked her.

“I was being watched at the pick up point, so I started walking like I told them I was going to,” she explained with a shrug.

“Right,” he nodded. “All went well?”

“Yes, but I’ll be very happy when this job is over,” she declared, folding her arms over her chest as she stood before him. In the heels she’d chosen to wear for this cover, she was almost the same height as him, lining them up in ways that brought a cocky smile to his face. “What are you grinning at, Queen?” she asked him.

“I could get used to seeing you in these outfits,” he winked at her before he opened the car door for her.

“Perv,” she shot back at him, but she was grinning. She made a move for the door but her heel caught on a small crack on the sidewalk and it sent her tumbling into him. He caught her, steadying her, but it brought her right up against him, her hands gripping into the collar of his coat.

For a moment there was nothing but breath. There was certainly nothing between them except his clothing because he really didn’t count hers - that tiny skin-tight dress that stopped barely below her ass, that clung to all the parts of her body he’d been forcing himself (poorly) not to focus on for the last few years. But how could he not think about them now? But he knew he had to let her go, had to release his steadying his hands from her waist no matter how delicious her curves were, because she surely wasn’t getting the same reaction from his touch as he was and–

“Oliver.”

Her voice was breathy against his his ear. Oliver. Not Queen, not his surname, not any variation of mockery. Just his name. It had never sounded so good.

He dipped his head forward, just inches away from her lips now. “We shouldn’t do this,” he mused aloud, but when he saw her bite her lip he let out a small moan of longing that betrayed him. “Felicity…” He glanced down at her lips, tugged between her teeth, but when he met her eyes he could only see longing. “God, Smoak, tell me you want this,” he all but pleaded.

“I want this,” she responded quickly, impatience taking over her as she grasped tighter at his coat before flattening her hands against his chest. “Whatever this is.”

“Sex,” he told her, his voice just a desperate breath, his fingertips digging into her hips to bring her even closer as he turned and pressed her against the car. “This is sex, before we explode, and then it’s…whatever comes next. But first sex, a lot of sex,” he insisted before he pressed his lips against hers.

It was furious, crushing and desperate. Felicity had no time to respond before he was kissing her, and she didn’t even try. She met him for each movement, a soft whimper leaving his throat when he slammed her against the now-closed passenger side door, her lips parted enough for Oliver’s tongue to find its way to hers. He tasted like coffee and those cream-cheese bagels he insisted on eating whenever he had to wait around in the bar, and she sank into it, savouring the touches they were finally allowing themselves as her hands left his chest to travel down to his sides, completely giving in to him.

Oliver moved his hands to the cool metal of the car, using his body weight to press Felicity up against it. Kissing her was an adrenaline rush he’d never felt outside of a mission before, and he deepened the kiss as soon as he could, nipping at her lips between small gasps of breath as he tried to fumble with the door handle just out of his reach. He might be desperate enough to take her now rather than try to drive anywhere, but if they were still being watched he’d at least make sure they weren’t giving a show for the public eye. The most privacy they could get right now was inside the car, and he tried in vain to get the back door open so he could get her inside before the temptation to work on the zipper at the back of her dress overwhelmed him.

Felicity - for all her grace - laughed into their kiss when she realised he was failing to get the door open, as if the image of her partner so sexually frustrated that he was struggling with such a menial task was the highlight of her evening. It broke their kiss and she glanced over to the side, seeing his intention for the back seat and having far too many flashbacks to college years and filthy fumbles. As he got the door open, she pushed his thick coat off his shoulders and threw it on the backseat - she didn’t want any stray safety belts pressing into her ass - and then let him push her inside, carefully shielding her head as he did so. She shifted back, her eyes never leaving Oliver as he squeezed himself into the car and shut the door.

He took a moment to admire the sight before him; a beautiful blonde sprawled across the backseat with one leg propped up on the seat with the other lain in the footwells. It pushed up her dress to her hips, and if he had more room inside the vehicle he’d have been able to dip lower and see exactly what she was wearing beneath.

“Here?” she asked from beneath him, an amused smile crossing her lips as she watched him try to fit his broad shoulders into the back of a car that was far too small for this.

“Not my first choice,” he said, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it into the front seat. “But we have to be back at HQ in an hour for a debrief and I’m not wasting time driving to a motel.”

The moment he tried to unzip his pants, she took over. As she brushed her hand over the growing bulge in his boxers, he moaned and pulled her back in for a heated kiss, his body trembling in anticipation when she continued to tease with her fingertips while pushing down his pants as much as space would allow. With one hand free, he pushed her dress up the final few inches above her hips and pulled her hand away, and in an attempt to relieve the pressure building his groin he pressed against her.

The lack of space worked in their favour when it came to the rutt of their hips, a longing moan matched from them both as he strained against her. He knew he was hitting her clit when she gasped into the kiss, pushing up harder against him and he moved with her desire, grinding his erection against her covered clit in desperation for something.

“Oliver,” she grunted impatiently, breaking the kiss with an arch of her back before her hands moved to his boxers. They were an obstacle now, preventing the feel of skin on skin, and they both needed them out of the way. While she tugged them out of the way with frustrated whimpers, he merely pushed her flimsy strip of lace aside and pushed a finger up into her.

Her back almost bowed off the seat, pressing her upper body into his as he worked his finger within her. She was wet enough that it slid in with ease, and he was too distracted by the breathy moans leaving her lips as he pushed a second finger into her to focus on what her hands doing, so the touch of her cool hand against his bare length made him still for a moment, arousal flooding his brain and making him lose control. The resulting jerk of his body made his fingertips brush a sensitive spot within her and god, he swore he’d never even imagined that noise leaving her lips before.

He needed it again. He needed more.

He throbbed in her hand as he worked her with his fingers, biting into the kiss as an encouragement. She was tight around his fingers and his cock ached in her hand with the thought of being buried deep within it, but he could feel her relaxing around his fingers as he stroked at her inner muscles. It didn’t shock him that she was loud in her pleasure - after all, she never stopped talking - but it did shock him that she was generous with the use of his name, that she wasn’t afraid to ask for what she wanted, well demand it, and he kept pushing her until she was quaking in his arms, crying out into the kiss as he felt her release pooling in his palm.

He didn’t let her come down from the high before he was pulling her hand away from him and placing it on his shoulder. She was still writhing her hips through her orgasm as he positioned himself better between her legs and pushed inside her with a slow thrust. He silenced her next moan with his lips, knotting his tongue around hers because he didn’t trust what he might say if he didn’t occupy his mouth. She was still rippling and tightening him around him as he filled her, and it was unlike anything he’d ever felt before.

Oliver could feel her body adjusting to the change between his fingers and his hardened length, the way she rocked into him the same way she had pushed back against his fingers, and the moment she whimpered with impatience he started to move. He’d thought about this before - however unintentionally - and he imagined slow, imagined them moving together, and he definitely hadn’t pictured the lack of control that followed when her leg raised to cradle his hip.

He pulled out enough just to thrust back hard into her, she cried out, sinking her fingernails into his shoulder, but she didn’t fight him on it. She was already spiralling towards another orgasm, right off the back off her last one, and despite the fast pace they managed to match pace. It didn’t take long for the two of them to reach their peak, and Oliver could feel the white-hot heat searing through him as she started to ripple around him. He held her thigh against his hip, pinning her in place beneath him so he could thrust harder into her.

She fell over the edge first, and this time it wasn’t with a cry but with a short scream of his name and certainly no regard of the public setting. She tightened around him and he slid easier into her the wetter her orgasm made her, he didn’t think he’d ever been with a woman who came as hard as she did. But she shifted, pressing her own fingers against her clit to heighten the pleasure and send her flying into a more forceful orgasm immediately after, and it was that which send Oliver headfirst into his orgasm. He ground his hips against her as he filled her, stuttered thrusts filling her until the wave started to ease of into lazy kisses between their pulsing bodies.

But then the car door was pulled open, and everything went dark.

–

When Oliver came too, he was staring at his own I.D. badge. They’d been made. Everything he could remember was lost in Felicity, and then darkness. They had been followed. They’d been watched, and they’d let their guard down enough that they could be taken. There was pain radiating from his chest, pressure he tried to push away, and the pressure fought back.

“Queen, stop moving!”

Her. Smoak. She’d been taken too.

She was pressing her hands into his chest, pressing against the pain that was choking, and he gasped in a breath instead of attempting to say her name, grabbing at her wrist. It was wet. Blood. That iron-taste that filled his mouth and when he tried to swallow, he couldn’t.

“Stop moving!” she told him, her voice far more desperate.

“Felicity.”

“They stabbed you three times. I…I can’t stop the bleeding,” she said with a shake in her tone. “No one’s coming.”

He understood what she was telling him. They had no back up. No protection. No medical supplies. He’d been stabbed and it had clearly hit something vital because everything hurt, and he was…dying. He wasn’t going to make it.

He gripped her wrist tighter. “Run,” he told her. “Go. You have to go.”

“No,” she insisted, her hand closing over his. “You’re my partner, I’m staying. We go in together, we come back out together, right?”

His head falls back against the ground. “Right,” he muttered, because he was tired and it hurt to fight with him, and he never won with her anyway. She was always right.

It was her face he saw last. When he couldn’t breathe, when the blood spilled past his lips and everything was fire and pain, he could at least see her face. In another time, he’d have mocked her tears, called her a girl and told her to toughen up. But he was dying. He was dying, and at least he’d had a chance to taste her, to feel her, so when he pulled her down for one final moment of weakness he doesn’t regret it as much as he regretted the tears on her cheeks.

He only opened she could make it out before they caught her.

But he fell in love with her breaking protocol for him. Even if it was the last thing she did for him.


	18. Get It Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said: smut prompt: 5 times Olicity tries new sex positions and the 1 time they get hurt while trying one. bYEEEEE

The first time he throws her against a wall, she’s not entirely sure they’ve finished fighting. She was very focused on the fight and all the reasons he was wrong, but she forgets every single one of them when his hands hook under her thighs and the picture frame falls off the wall when her left shoulder slams into it.

This is the sex she’s always imagined she’d get from Oliver - angry, raw, passionate - and she comes just from rutting against him and that’s before he shoves her dress up around her waist and only pushes his pants down as far as mid-thigh. It’s all he needs to push into her, to fill her with one firm thrust that has her keening and arching away from the wall he’s pressing her.

She doesn’t care about why they were fighting or who was wrong because this is completely right, and nothing else matters except hitting that release she’s craving through the adrenaline. She wants her heart beating in the right ways, wants to be out of breath from screaming expletives that only relate to the pulsing between her thighs.

—

The first time he takes her from behind, it’s exactly like he’s fantasised. He’s spent a good few months - years, really - thinking about what it would feel like to walk up behind her when she bends over her desk and hike up her skirt. It’s almost like she’s planned it, because she’s barely covered by a scrap of lace that he knows she knows he loves. Lace is his downfall on her, the way it contrasts against his leathers like the angel she is to his demon and she arches with a gasp of surprise before she pushes back against his tight pants and lets it happen.

He can tell she’s imagined this as often as he has, he wonders whether it started in the office for her like his dreams did, or whether she’s been feeling this since the first encounters in the foundry where he started to fall for the fire she uses to melt the ice he hides himself behind.

He’ll ask her later, but for now he contents himself with holding her against him and sweeping her keyboard off the side of the desk, because some things are far more important.

—

It’s barely sunrise on a Sunday, the time of day that should be sinful, but he woke her up with lips against her shoulder and she doesn’t really care for sleep when he shifts her leg up and back up over his hip. She feels more exposed than she ever has done, spread bare for the hungry eyes he searches her with, his chin propped on her shoulder as he skates his hand over her abdomen, circling her navel before it dips lower, lower, and teases her ready for him.

She can feel him hard behind her, pressing against her buttocks as the rocking of his hips pushes her more firmly against his hand, heightening the pleasure that rockets through her. When she’s whimpering, too lost in half-wakefulness to bring any other sounds from her lips, he removes his hand and replaces it with something far more satisfying, and she thinks that being exposed to him might be her sweetest downfall.

—-

He pulls her into position when she’s crawling off the bed to tease him. He knows what she’s doing, distracting him by working him up then seeing to other tasks, but that won’t be happening today. He pulls her down into his lap, her legs landing either side of his hips so she’s pressed flush against his aching length, the one she’s been palming seconds earlier with a litany of filth he’s never expected to hear from her lips.

But she’s facing away from him, and it gives him the advantage of running his the palm of his hand down her spine in a way that has her arching like a damn kitten under his touch. The movement has her brushing her slick centre against him and the only reaction they have is to shift her up, press hands between them and guide him into her so she can ride him.

He’s captivated as she moves above him. Usually when she’s on top he busies himself with burying his face in her chest or circling his thumb over her clit but this time he’s met with the sight of her ass rolling before him, and all he can do is stare.

—

She’s not sure what she was thinking when she climbs into his lap, because she was attempting to cook dinner and he’s laughing at her, and for some reason all she wants to do is climb into his arms and kiss him. Only kissing leads to touching, and the chair that sits to the side of their kitchen-diner is perfect for pressing their groins together. It happens in sequence; his tongue wraps around hers, her hips roll, his length thickens in his pants and presses against her. Her moan is silenced by the timer going off, but she reaches over his shoulder to switch off the stove because what she really wants to do is have an orgasm or three.

He has the same idea, judging from the way he uses her movement to slide her sweatpants down and she kicks them away before she sinks back into his lap. She comes before he’s even got his hands in her underwear, getting off on pure friction while he grinds right up against her.

—

When he feels the smack of a hard surface against his forehead, it stuns him enough that he understands the expression of seeing stars. He groans in pain, not pleasure, but he’s not the only one. When he pushes up onto his forearms, she sits up in the space he’d occupied and rubbed at her shoulder. This is what impatience gets them, a round of foreplay at the top of the stairs that has them sliding down to the bottom with a few too many bruises across his forehead and her backside.

But they can laugh about it. And that’s what cements them. That’s what gets them through the night of ice packs and pyjamas, her leaning against him to take the pressure off her bruises while he teases her by poking them every time she tries to test him for a concussion.

Maybe next time they’ll get it right.


	19. Back in the Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> devanrlanier said: Olicity have sex for the first time after having a baby. And oliver is very very excited. “It’s been like 6 months felicity!!!”

1 New Message Received: Felicity Wifey Wife.  
 _All systems go. Drop Tommy off at Thea’s. Get home now._

1 New Message Received: Felicity Wifey Wife.  
 _I realise that sounded very covert. Basically, the appointment went well, I’m totally healthy and ready to go and very much want some sex like now. Waiting for you to get home isn’t an option so Thea’s babysitting until tomorrow morning as long as you can take him there on your way. Home, now please._

1 New Message Received: Hunky Hubby  
 _Coming._

1 New Message Received: Hunky Hubby  
 _Hopefully multiple times._

–

“Are you sure you’re ready to be away from him overnight?” Thea checked as she placed the baby carrier down on the couch, watching the sleeping infant carefully before turning to her brother. “Felicity, especially, I mean…I offered last month and she-”

“We’re ready,” he insists quickly, putting the bag down and running a check through it. “You’ve got everything you need, so you should be fine until morning.”

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

“Fine,” he nodded quickly, already eyeing up the door.

“Oliver, I know Felicity had a doctors appointment today,” she pressed. “Why the sudden rush for alone time? Is something wrong? Is she-?”

“She’s fine. She’s completely fine, and that’s the point of alone time.”

His voice was straight to the point, so much so that Thea blinked at him several times before realisation washed over her features and she gave him a disgusted look.

“You are not dumping your baby on me so you can go have sex.”

“Yes, I am,” he insisted.

“Oliver! That’s not fair.”

He grabbed his sister’s shoulders, his eyes wide as he looked at her desperately. “Thea, I love my son. I love him very much, he’s my entire world, the highlight of my life, my pride and joy, but it has been six months and I am about to _tear my skin off_. We _finally_ have the all-clear from the doctors, so yes, you are going to look after your wonderful, perfect nephew like you’ve been asking to for weeks and I am going to go home and have a _lot_ of sex with my wife because I have been _patient_ and she _wants_ it and I do not want you to call me unless there’s an emergency. Do you understand me?”

–

1 New Message Received: Hunky Hubby.

_Tommy’s at Thea’s. Get naked._

–

The second the door was shut behind him, her lips were on his. He didn’t even pause to react, merely span her where he stood and pressed her half-dressed for up against the wall. He’d driven faster than he should have and managed to interrupt her halfway through undressing if her unbuttoned jeans and discarded shirt were any indication. But he didn’t interrupt the assault she ravaged against him.

She has her first orgasm rutting against him when he lifted her up against the wall. One thing he’d fallen in love with was how sensitive her body was since having the baby, and in the last few weeks where it had has been completely unbearable he’d made a fun hobby of touching her whenever he’d had a chance to, and it had driven them both insane.

After, they trip over the mass of toys that now littered their loft, but they didn’t make it any further than the couch where they finally got completely naked. She had another two orgasms before he finished, one more on his fingers and again against his tongue, but a refuelling water break in the kitchen ended up with him going down on her while she braced herself against the counter, and after that he was raring to go again. 

By the time they eventually fell asleep, even he’d lost count of how many times they’d brought each other to the brink of completion and over the edge. All he knows is there’s possible a stain on the couch, everything had collapsed from the shower trays onto the floor and if anyone ever brought a black light into their bedroom it’d look like a horrifying episode of CSI. Collapsed haphazardly across the bed, they passed a bottle of water between them, still panting hard for breath.

“Totally worth it,” she mumbled.

“It was good,” Oliver corrected. “But I don’t think any amount of sex is worth not having it for six months.”

“I’ve never seen you so eager,” she half laughed. “Way to bring your A-Game.”

“I’ve had six months of planning,” he pointed out.

“Still, those were some pretty intense orgasms,” she praised, passing the bottle back to him. “Ten out of ten, would recommend.”

“Are you sure?” he checked with a smirk. “I might have a second opinion in me, if you need some reassuring.”

Her hand reached over and pat his stomach. “I’m not as in shape as you are. I’m going to need a nap first.”

He laughed. “Someone’s slipping…” he teased.

“I just had your baby, remember,” Felicity reminded him.

“Mmm,” he admired, leaning up and over her to plant a kiss on her lips. “I think you could be right about the nap.”

“Someone’s slipping…” she mocked him, grinning up at him.

“Hmm, remember that wonderful night’s sleep last night because your amazing husband got up with the baby,” he reminded her, peppering one more kiss against her lips. “But for now, I’ll take a night holding you in my arms without having to get up every two hours.”

She dropped her head back with a moan far too reverent of what he’d been hearing all day. “That sounds perfect.”


	20. Dining Pleasures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aussieforgood: Ava (or both ava and tommy) have taken over their bed and it’s been a long time since Oliver and Felicity have had sex. So one night they manage to get some time to themselves - maybe sneak off to another room - and smutty things happen.

In hindsight, it was probably the wine. The wine, and the fact that they hadn’t been alone in the same room without the sheer terror of waking the baby for the last five months. But Felicity wasn’t breastfeeding any more, so the fact that Thea had offered to babysit for the evening so they could go out and have dinner together meant that really, it was only about the wine.

Ava was a wonderful baby. They adored her, and starting a family had been the greatest of all the adventures that their life had taken. They wouldn’t have changed anything about parenthood - except one thing.

There were three people in the bed now.

Ava wasn’t great at sleeping at night. It started as a joke that she was scared of the dark, but it had escalated to the point where she was even giving Oliver a challenge to stay up at all hours of the night with her. It usually ended with Felicity passed out among half-empty bottles of milk and water, Oliver sprawled out beside her, with the baby laid out between them.

So if Thea wanted to babysit for a night? They’d been ready to leave in ten minutes.

It seemed like another lifetime that they last sat in a restaurant and had a glass (or five) of wine together. Felicity never needed encouragement to admire Oliver in a suit, and she’d missed the ties, to be honest. He, on the other hand, was experiencing a brand new admiration. She still fit into her dresses from before her pregnancy, but they were full with new curves that he really hoped would stick around, and between that and the wine, there were nothing but heated glances and sneaking touches beneath the table.

She wasn’t entirely shocked when he followed her into the ladies room.

She heard his chair move across the floor only moments after hers, and she waited just inside the door for him. He wasn’t one for exhibitionism in their relationship, usually, not when he had the added pressures of his history in the public eye as well as his new status as mayor of Star City. He’d made a promise that he wouldn’t throw her into the same photographs of inappropriate actions in a public place like the poor girls he’d entertained in his youth.

But tonight was a breaking point. They needed release, needed the touch of one another. At home their bed wouldn’t be empty, but here they were alone. At least, once he threw the lock into place they were alone.

Oliver approached her with a darkened gaze, heated with his intentions for her. Felicity’s red painted lips curved into a smirk when she backed against the wall, a slow chase to the nearest flat surface, and when he was against her, she could see exactly how this would happen in the way his eyes raked over her body. This would not be sweet lovemaking, this would not be gentle, this would be fast, this would be relief, and she found herself biting at her lower lip moments before he pressed her into the wall and took over that job for her.

Her back arched into him, and he growled against her lips, pressing back against her so she could feel how instant his reaction to her was. He was hard against her hip, straining against his pants as his hands dug into her thighs. It one movement, he’d lifted her and wrapped her legs around his waist so he could press his aching bulge directly against her centre.

She moaned, knotting her tongue around his just as her hand wound around his tie, holding him against her while her other hand grazed fingernails against the back of his neck. The action had him bucking against her, grinding directly against her covered clit. Any other time she’d have revelled in it, rocked her hips against his until they were both teased out of control, but tonight they not only had a baby to get home to, but had a table to get back to before anyone noticed what they’d snuck away to do.

Her hand snuck between them to work on his zipper, which was a difficult task granted he was rocking into her. It was a frustrating task that had her groaning until he backed off enough to free himself. Her hand flew down, taking his length into her hand and swallowing down the deep moan that left his lips. For that moment, all he could focus on was her kiss, his hips moving blindly into her skilled palm as he pushed his tongue against hers, the action as desperate as it was passionate.

Her head fell back when he moved his kisses to her throat, his tongue lavishing attention on each spot that sent pleasure shooting down between her thighs. It may have been a while since they’d gotten time together like this, but that didn’t mean he didn’t remember all the ways to make her scream. As he moved, he moved one hand beneath the fabric of her skirt and pushed her panties aside. The first brush of his fingers, exploratory and testing, had her gasping, pushing down for more, and she rewarded him with a whimpered moan when he plunged two fingers into her, rolling his thumb over her clit. It was hard, unforgiving, and the sudden assault of pleasure after being deprived of this time together had her keening in his arms for more as he pressed her into the wall.

When her walls tightened around his finger, he panted a breath against the column of her neck. “God, I’ve missed you,” he breathed into her ear, taking his fingers out of her despite her protesting moan to grasp his entire palm around the cheek of her ass.

Her reply was halted by the shift of his hips until he was filling her entirely. She arched up with a cry, his matching groan rumbling through her shoulder. She was so tight around him that he had to pause, letting her walls flutter into relaxation around him before he was pulling out and thrusting back in to the hilt. Felicity lowered her head again, pressing it into his shoulder to muffle the cries that burst through. It had been so long she’d forgotten how she managed to stay quiet when he was driving into her with this much force. All she could do was hold onto his shoulders, powerless from her position against the wall to do anything more than take each one of his thrusts and surrender to the pleasure he was giving her.

Turning her face into his neck, she allowed one moan to slip through, the vibrations sending a shiver down his spine while she clung to him. The slide of his body within hers brought her close to the edge quickly, and she knew from the erratic movements of his hips that he wasn’t far behind her, so she reached up to pull his earlobe between her teeth, tugging on it in a way that made him stall for a moment.

Her orgasm took her by surprise, not with its speed but with it’s force. She wasn’t sure whether or not she managed to stay quiet, but by the time she was recovering from the white hot pleasure of her release, she could only feel him slumping against her, her walls pulsing around him as she drew him in. His thrusts slowly as he came, riding out his release slowly until they slowed to a stop.

Despite the frantic sex against the wall, he paused to smile at her, sweeping her hair back into place before he kissed her slower and let her gain her footing again. They moved together as they adjusted her dress and his pants so they were decent again, cleaning up at the sink together, until a knock at the door made them both jump to attention.

“Mr. Queen? Is everything okay?”

They stepped out to several concerned waiters hovering at the door, all hiding behind the manager. Oliver took one look at Felicity’s flushed cheeks and cleared his throat.

“My wife isn’t feeling well, could we get the rest of the meal to go?”


	21. Finding  Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said: Oliver and Felicity first time after the break up. Angry make up sex

He didn’t realise how much he’d missed it until he felt it.

It was simple, really, such a simple small pleasure, something that wasn’t even a regular part of their lovemaking, but it was what made him lose it.

It had been four months since he’d had her in his bed, his in arms. He hadn’t heard her cry out his name in a delirious longing in so long that he’d almost forgotten it. Their parting had been too heartbreaking for him to draw on thoughts of her in intimate moments, particularly when she couldn’t be a part of them. It was true what they said about soulmates - once separated, nothing made sense alone.

But now he wasn’t alone. They were together, they were in their own home, and the ring was back on her finger where it belonged. Circumstances be damned, but when the love of his life found a reason to kiss him, he would never be an unwilling man.

He’d backed her against the wall, his fingers searching her skin in the teasing radius from the varying hemlines, and he’d just gotten his hands on the buttons of her shirt when it happened.

She lifted her leg around his hip.

He was still adjusting to the sight of her walking again, so the way her leg curled around him, pressing her centre against his in a delicious way, made his blood boil with lust.

Buttons went flying as he tore at her shirt, tossing the fabric away with a careless disregard. There was the small yelp of surprise and amusement that he’d missed, there was the heated gaze in her blue eyes as she drew him back to her, there was the familiar press of her fingertips in the back of his neck as she held him close.

There was her leg around his hip, making him rock against her in ways that drew delicious moans from her. It was a grounding, a purpose, a simple, so simple move that brought them closer together. Things had changed, they had changed, but he could still grip his hands into her thighs and hoist them around his hips so he could press her in the wall.

He could still make her shudder with a few flicks of his fingers, could still feel his body burning from the warmth of her tightening around him. For all that had changed, she would still bite at her lip when she tried to hold back the moans he encouraged from her. She would still dig her fingernails into his shoulders and bear down when he thrust into her. She would still rock her hips in time with his until the frantic need to feel her grip his length turned overtook him.

She would still scream his name when she came. Just like he remembered.

After, she laid her forehead against the curve of his neck, panting against his collarbone while they both trembled with the strain of holding their sweat-coated bodies together. She still pressed a soft kiss wherever she could reach.

She still loved him.

That was the best part of coming home.


	22. Forbidden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little CEO/Department head secret relationship….

It’s after her second orgasm that Oliver realizes he’s in love with her.

Well, it’s not the first time he’s thought that, but it’s this time that makes his head spin with the force of _oh-holy-fuck-I-love-her_ until it’s nothing but her nails running through his short hair with a whisper of his name on her lips that brings him back into focus.

He’s certain that he shouldn’t love her, but it just makes the burn stronger. It’s not that it’s forbidden, exactly, just…something he denies himself. But how can he pay attention to the pressures of the city when her smile is so bright? When her laughter is so vibrant? When she cradles his body between slender legs that were sculpted with the sole purpose of tightening around his waist?

And it’s been three weeks since he’s seen her. Three weeks of torturous evenings alone, twenty-one days and sixteen hours of meetings where he speaks her name as if she’s an employee and not as he does when he stutters each syllable and empties himself inside her. Three weeks where she’s been nothing but a photograph on his phone with a ‘wish you were here’ that was an understatement for how badly he wanted to be at her side.

And it’s not just lust. It is love. Because he also thinks of her when he sees a cute animal she’d probably squeal over, and when he sees a goofy shirt that would suit her, and he does smile when she babbles something inappropriate. But right now, love is clouded by insatiable need, and when he’s been apart from her for three weeks he’s surprised he took pause long enough to put the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the doorknob before he approached her.

Because the best end to a fourteen hour day of budget meetings and fixed smiles is one where the unexpected love of your life is waiting in your hotel room wearing nothing but a smile.

So yes, he comes undone at the sight of blue painted toenails dragging up the bed sheets, exposing what waits between the curve of her thighs, and no, it doesn’t take him more than three seconds to throw his jacket to the side and lower his body on top of hers. The shirt is another problem, because he’s too impatient for buttons and she’s far too distracted by the way his starved lips latch onto her pulse. Judging from the heady scent of arousal that surrounds her, she’s been distracted for a while.

She’s keening his name once before his shirt is still hanging around his elbows, where she’s unable to push it any further off his body because he refused to remove his fingers from where they curled into a spot that had her clenching around him in seconds. If he wasn’t so eager for the same pleasure, he’d have smirked at how desperately she had missed him. When he finally pulls his digits from her tight entrance, she doesn’t protest at the stimulation being too much but protests that he’s no longer within her.

But nothing - _nothing_ \- is sweeter than the way she sobs out his name when his lips close around her clit. For him it’s salvation, it’s worship at the only alter he’ll ever kneel before, and for as tightly as his fingers grip into the muscles of her hips she holds him back just as tightly with her thighs. He rarely gets to take his time with this, to savor how readily she surrenders herself to him with a single flick of her tongue. There’s always a distraction - an emergency at the office, a phone ringing, a security alert - but tonight this is just them. There’s no reason to leave this room until his flight in forty-one hours, and while he was considering a trip into downtown Gotham, he’d rather spent at least twenty of hours hours lapping at her soaked folds, another eleven with his length buried inside her and ten hours of peace with her in his arms because he so rarely experiences that indulgence with her.

And that’s when he realizes he loves her. He isn’t sure when life will settle enough for him to focus his entire being on her, because there are hurdles are must be conquered and work always comes first. The CEO dating his Head of Applied Sciences is a scandal waiting to be picked at by the crows. But she is the embodiment of his finish line, and if they can last this long, he knows he’ll wait as long as necessary to have her in his arms, to claim her openly at his own. At least now he can claim her in darkened corners and hotel rooms. He’s not sure which of their friends arranged for her to be here, but he knows he has a few thank yous to issue when he can eventually grant his lips a purpose other than reminding her just how much he adores her.

Sometimes he tells her that. He tells her that he loves her when they don’t have more than a few moments in an office to be alone, or when they have these hotel room moments where he can take his time brand the words into her skin with his kisses and the pads of his fingers. Other times he can’t tell her, so he has to channel it into looks and glances and subtle brushes of hands over folders while they pretend to be coworkers and not the lovesick fools they have become for one another.

But now he can, and as he crawls up her body and covers her lips with his own he’s allowed to speak her name as her legs part to frame his lips. There’s no question of whether she’s ready for him, because she was ready the moment he entered the room, and he considers it the height of self control that he manages to remove his clothing fully instead of pushing it aside just enough to given him access. But lying skin-to-skin with her is a coveted pleasure of his, and the way she rocks her wet folds against his aching length is both a victory and a torture.

The moan that leaves his throat when he sinks into her is guttural, born from the way he has worshiped her from afar in the last lonely weeks, exacerbated by the way her walls tighten around his intrusion before they quiver in acceptance and she’s whispering his name into his mouth to coax him into action. They have hours for slow, days for sensual, and all they need now is each other. Later, he knows he can pin her to the shower wall while she mocks his need to check the sports updates between the blurred rush of orgasms, and he’ll wake her from her much-needed nap with his tongue searching through her folds, but now he needs to sink into her and fight the temptation to never surface again.

It doesn’t last long for either of them, his attempts to remain in control thwarted by her needy whimpers and pleas for _more, harder, faster, right there_. He knows her body better than he knows his own, and he knows he’ll hear her scream for him one more time before he succumbs to his own needs. It’s a risk, to have his name called so erotically in hotels where the walls are never quite thick enough, but they take precautions where possible, and right now he doesn’t care. All he cares about is her desperation for him, the way her body cradles his, the words she whispers to encourage him to drop any gentlemanly intentions and lose himself in her.

When she arches up into him, he’s right behind her, blind to all else but the intensity of her rippling body drawing his orgasm from him with a shout. Maybe it’s a scream, maybe it’s more of a moan, but all he knows is that she shudders beneath him when it vibrates through her clavicle where he sinks down and waits for conscious thought to return to him.

But it doesn’t. It’s a basic instinct that has him pushing at the bed sheets and pulling her into his embrace. He doesn’t care that they’re sweaty and their bodies are slick, because as soon as he feels rested enough to move he plans on seeing her ride him the way she had in Coast City two months ago, wants to see her hair falling around her shoulders as she uses his body for her pleasure, and that’s just the start of his wish list that started the moment the door had closed behind him.

“Surprise,” she grins into his shoulder when he curls his arm around her and her hand trails a path over her stomach. “Miss me?”

He wants to match her smile, but instead finds himself lowering his head into the mass of blonde hair within his reach. He inhales, surrounds himself with the familiar scents of her shampoo and the soft spot of skin just below her shoulder blade. “I’m glad you’re here,” he murmurs. “It’s never the same without you.”

“I’m here now,” she assures him, lifting her leg over his to draw herself closer to him and she hums her approval when his other hand traces her thigh to settle on her bare hip.

“Mmm,” he agrees, his fingers drifting lower, into the space her shift in position has created between her legs. Still sensitive, she hissed and ground her hips against his palm. “Yes, you are…”

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” she warns him, biting at her lip as he sinks a teasing finger inside her.

He twists his fingers, brushing the spot inside her that has her choking out a sound he’s certain is her body reminding her that she’s already been satisfied but oh, go on then, once more…

“I don’t think finishing is something we have to worry about,” he muses, closing his lips over hers as he swallows her next moan with his lips.


	23. Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said: Smut prompt: Felicity makes Oliver wait.

Five. Damn. Weeks.

He hadn’t had sex for five weeks.

It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t his fault. It was the universe’s fault. The damn universe didn’t want him to get laid. But he wanted to. He needed to. He was starting to go out of mind. He just needed an orgasm inside the woman he loved or he was going to explode.

She’d been in Gotham on business for three weeks, before that they’d been caught up with far too much work, and before that she’d been on her period and declared a ‘no fly’ zone below the waist. His work in the mayoral office left him too busy to fly out to Gotham and surprise her as he had tried to do for the last nineteen days, and he’d just had to wait until she came home.

And then he’d been caught in a meeting and not on time to pick her up from the airport. She’d assured him that she’d get a cab, and in hindsight, that was wise because Oliver was pretty certain that he’d have thrown her down on the baggage claim and ravished her there and then.

All in all, it had not been a good five weeks. So he knew that he had to make an excuse, leave his meeting early, and meet her air the airport.

Seeing her standing outside arrivals with her suitcase made his chest flutter. As desperate as he was for her, catching sight of his wife for the first time in three weeks reminded him just how empty he felt without her. They’d been married for a year now, and there was certainly no love lost. Well, maybe when he’d called her a week into her business trip with every intention of spewing filth down the phone with his hand down his pants until she’d muttered the words which had been his undoing for the last two weeks.

“Why don’t we…wait?”

Apparently she’d read this article on the plane on the way out to Gotham which mentioned couples who abstained for sex for a number of weeks had better orgasms or something - he hadn’t really paid attention because he’d been somewhat reluctantly toying with the drawstring of his sweatpants, knowing that he was undoubtedly not getting off to the sounds of her moans over the phone that night.

And so they’d waited. They’d waited, and Oliver had never wanted her more. Well, he probably had done given the length of their tension-filled early friendship, but everything fell second to the lust-crazed state of mind that he’d surrendered to weeks ago. And now she was right before him, waving him down with a soft smile that screamed jet lag and after weeks of craving her, he just drew her into his arms and held her.

Halfway home, his hand had started to wander.

She’d twirled her fingers around his almost restlessly as he drove, telling him about the final meeting she’d had with Wayne Enterprises that morning, and he’d tried to pay attention but all he could focus on was the movements of her fingers against his. It made him have far more impure thoughts about what her fingers could be doing, so he cleared his throat dropped his hand down to her thing. At first she didn’t falter in her conversation and his fingers teased closer and closer to the apex of her thighs, but whenever his hand slipped beneath the hem of her dress she would bat his fingers away.

So he behaved himself. For a time.

Oliver was putting her case in the closet beside the door while she asked him about calling in dinner when his control finally snapped. He stepped up behind her as she put her purse down on the kitchen worktop when he wound one arm around her waist and tugged her back against his chest. She gasped as he did, following her sharp intake with a low whine when he simultaneously closed his lips over the sensitive curve of her neck and cupped his hand over her mound beneath her dress.

“Oliver…” she murmured, pressing back against his hand. He could already feel himself thicken against her lower back, aroused almost consistently by the thought of her and so close to where he wanted to be.

“Naughty…” his voice rumbled against her throat when his fingers pressed into the damp material between her thighs. “What’s gotten you into this state?”

She arched back, pressing herself against his hard length. He hissed, already pulsing with need as she teased him back. “Thinking of you,” she replied, aiming for sultry but only achieving a breathless impatience.

Her words shot straight to his groin, the thought of her squirming in her first class seat as she thought about getting home to him driving his fingers up past her sodden panties and delving into the sensitive folds of skin that had her crying out his name. If he thought her underwear was wet, it was nothing compared to the flesh that beneath it or the way she ground down against his digits with a frustrated plea for more.

“God, Felicity,” he groaned, flicking her clit and drawing a sharp cry from her. “Bed, now.”

“Here,” she insisted impatiently, closing her hand over his so she could angle it perfectly to press against his.

“Bed,” he repeated with a growl, not allowing room for argument.

He wasn’t sure how they made it up the stairs, he just remembered her lips fiercely crushing against his as he backed her towards the stairs. By the time they reached the top of the stairs her dress was gone, leaving her in just an underwear set so delectable it would make a nun swear, and Oliver’s mouth ran dry.

He’d planned to tease her, to undress her slowly, to take her to the brink of insanity before he lets her slip over into bliss, but when he saw her sprawled out on their bed, one leg crooked up in invitation for him, with bedroom eyes that he’d thought about in the shower that morning, he’d almost lost his mind and abandoned any hope for stamina there and then.

Lowering himself over her, she arched up into his kiss and it allowed him the chance to slip his hands beneath her and unhook her bra. He didn’t wait to savour the sight of her breasts bared to him before he was grazing his fingers over her already hard nipples. She shuddered, and he chased the goosebumps that erupted over her flesh with his calloused fingertips before he was back over her, curling his tongue around the stiff peaks that she pressed up against his touch.

“Oliver…” she whimpered, drawing his attention back to her pleading gaze.

“No more waiting,” he insisted.

“Agreed,” she panted, rocking up against his groin.

Nothing was worth five weeks.

But the sex was pretty damn good.


End file.
